


Time To Say Goodbye

by matildajones



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Canon up till the end of Season 2, Happy Ending, M/M, Mates, No Major Character Death, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1936386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matildajones/pseuds/matildajones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek finds an older version of himself at his front door, along with Stiles, a boy from the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time To Say Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to [foreverblue-navy](http://foreverblue-navy.tumblr.com) for being the beta for this fic :)
> 
> The title comes from [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=thXKwGEXyQo)

 

 Derek lets the hot water strike his body as he scrubs himself red, coating himself liberally with bubbles of wash. When he finally stumbles out of the shower he takes in his face reflected on the steamed up mirror. He still looks the same, he guesses. He can’t possibly feel dirty since he’s lathered himself in so much soap in an effort to get the scent of sex off him. Kate’s perfume hopefully hasn’t settled in the air of the hotel room to cling to his clothes when he leaves.

 From the bed her nails are sharp and she twists her wrist in a wave. “You did good today, Derek. Got want I wanted.”

 He flushes at the door, and he wants to step forward and kiss her but from here her perfume is still strong. Derek mumbles that he’s had a good time and leaves the room before he can embarrass himself further.

 He doesn’t want to look more like a child than he already has; he has a curfew for god’s sake. A curfew that he hopes he can stretch into being ten minutes longer since he’s already running late. When he reaches the long driveway his skin is pink from the memories of the afternoon. He tries to calm his heartbeat, tries to convince his face to fall into a disinterested plane. Normally he’s pretty good at that.

 Something is wrong. As soon as he’s at the front door to his house his nose gets a whiff of the air and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. It’s definitely out of place; it’s slightly tangy, like it doesn’t belong here. He can’t place it. Derek listens carefully and picks out the heartbeats of his family. They sound okay.

 “Derek’s home,” his mother says with amusement in her voice. He doesn’t hear her move forward to yell at him so he thinks he’s gotten away with arriving late. Suddenly, there’s a loud scramble and Derek pauses when the sound of shoes scuff their way along the carpet.

 “No, Stiles!” an unfamiliar voice barks after him. There’s mad laughter and Derek’s not sure whether or not he should slink back from whoever’s hurtling themselves enthusiastically towards the door. His shoulders tense as he waits, trying to make sure his eyes don’t flash blue.

 “I want to see you!” the voice calls back and suddenly the door whips open and the most beautiful boy Derek has seen stares out at him with whisky coloured eyes. His pale skin looks delectable under the white moonlight, his moles scattered across his face like constellations and Derek just wants to lick.

 Then he takes a breath, and well, that was a mistake. This boy with his messy hair and plaid dress is intoxicating. Derek takes a step forward, he can’t help himself. All thoughts of the afternoon have left his mind completely, though it’s something he didn’t think he’d forget quite so soon, and the cheeky grin on the boy’s face is doing Derek’s head in. He smells so good. He smells like he was made for Derek, even if it’s a bit off. That strange, tangy scent is near and he doesn’t like it. It’s the only thing stopping him from launching himself at the unsuspecting boy.

 “Heeyy, Derek,” the guy grins. “I’m Stiles.”

 Derek swallows. “You’re –”

 Suddenly a hand grabs at Stiles’ arm and Derek lets out a small growl at the intrusion. No one should be taking Stiles away so soon, he’s just met the guy he wants to touch and devour and care and provide for. He glares at the large hand and then his nose takes another whiff and he falters.

 “Fuck!” he manages, because, well, he’s not sure what’s more of a surprise: finding his mate or finding himself looking severely old and grumpy and staring back at him. A finger jabs his chest as Stiles grumbles at the man before him.

 “Don’t say anything,” he growls, shoving Stiles back into the house.

 Derek opens his mouth.

 “Nothing,” he warns, baring his teeth. Derek’s eyes widen trying to follow Stiles’ line of movement behind the door. He wants to follow that scent forever. The man – himself – shoves his shoulder and Derek snaps back to reality.

 “What are you doing here?” he snaps as the hand lets him go. Derek has definitely noticed the way he’s suddenly buff now, thank you. He’d appreciate that fact if the man before him wasn’t flashing his eyes blue at him. This is his territory, thank you. There’s only room for one of them.

 The older Derek, the one with freaking stubble of all things, just drops his gaze in disgust. It’s like he knows where Derek’s been, knows what he’s been doing. His face flushes when he realises he does, shit, the man does know.

 “Don’t tell them,” he manages to stutter, and the man just snarls and stomps back into the house.

 Derek stands stunned for a few seconds. That was a bad reaction. He’s still really not sure what’s going on. Slowly, he steps forward into the living room to find his mother looking weary, his sisters grinning at him and the same bright eyed boy from before in the corner with the older Derek looming protectively near.

 He’s already getting jealous.

 “You two have a secret!” Laura says mischievously, eyeing the Dereks carefully. She licks her lips with her teeth exposed while the older him stares determinedly at the wall. A dark anger settles on his face, his own face, which is seriously really disconcerting, until Stiles nudges his arm and gives him a glare. He gives in and relaxes while the rest of the family looks on with mild amusement.

 “How long is he staying?” Derek demands.

 “Approximately two months,” the guy says sourly. He gets elbowed in the ribs. At least Stiles is sticking up for Derek, even if he’s doing the opposite at the same time. God, how did he even get like that? So sullen. He finds himself watching _himself_ in horrified fascination while eyes refuse to meet his.

 His father chuckles. “You two should learn how to get along.”

 “This is my house,” Derek argues.

 “His too,” Laura chortles, clearly enjoying this.

 He turns to his mother. “Does he have to stay here?”

 Talia’s eyes seem a little sad. At least he’s not the only one who’s reacting negatively to his older self being here. Though, if older him has to leave that means Stiles has to leave too. He doesn’t want that.

 “Well,” Stiles says. “Derek here says you do. He’s done it all before when he was you so I guess his word is law. Though, it isn’t really. Please don’t listen to him, Derek.” He takes a step forward and Derek’s breathing halts slightly. He can’t inhale in that pleasure again. Not in front of his family. “Oh my god, you totally need to listen to me and maybe I can coach you into not being such a sour face! That’s a good idea.”

 The older him sighs and Derek shoots him a look. Really? This is terrible. Stiles is not getting along well with his older self. He so could be doing better; Derek would have done better if he had gotten to Stiles first.

 “Don’t listen to him,” the older him says.

 “Well why should I listen to you?” Derek snipes back. Laura sniggers.

 “Because I’ve already gone through this,” his nerves look like they’ve been grated against steel. He also looks bored. Stiles rolls his eyes.

 “Then it shouldn’t matter, doofus,” Stiles says. “Pretty sure the future can’t change. Derek,” he says, bounding over and gripping his arm before the older him can stop the movement. He feels smug. “Don’t you dare listen to this one over here. Mostly, just do what you want. He has to do everything twice before he gets anything right anyway, so he’s not really worth listening to yet.”

Future him lets out a sigh of exasperation and folds himself over to the couch. He presses the line of his body against Laura who pauses for a second and then willingly hugs him. She sends Derek a toothy smile. “At least you come to appreciate me, little bro. Maybe you grew a brain when you got hot.”  


 Cora comes down the stairs where his younger brothers are sleeping and she looks disappointed, murderous. “I knew they wouldn’t get along but I wanted to see it.” Derek shoots her a dirty look. His mother goes into the next room and his father returns to his newspaper easily.

 Future him sits by Laura, nose in her hair. She doesn’t seem to mind, seems to have accepted it already. His whole family’s probably getting along better with this other version of himself than they do with Derek. He fights back a scowl and tries to burst up the stairs, but long fingers wrap around his wrist. It’s Stiles.

 “Show me your room?” he asks. Derek’s throat goes dry before he nods. He’s going to have another boy in his room; he’s going to have Stiles in his room. He hopes his scent will flood between the four walls so he can smell it forever. Stiles smiles brightly at him and follows him the up the stairs. His heart is pattering nervously but the rest of them don’t seem to care. Future him gives him a look of pity as he wanders up. So, he’s supposed to be dreading this conversation while he’s simultaneously really, really looking forward to it? He shuts the door when they both enter and Stiles stares around eagerly.

 “Haven’t you ever been in my room?”

 Stiles' heart beat skips a beat. Maybe he is interested. He’s starting to wonder why a random human is with older him if he obviously doesn’t know that they are mates. Derek sniffs. God, it smells good. Stiles neck is exposed as he looks around the room and at Derek’s posters. It’s a delicious stretch of skin and he kind of wants to bury his nose in it.

 “No,” Stiles says finally before plopping himself on Derek’s bed. He can stay there if he wants to; Derek kind of wants his sheets to smell like him. “Look, I’m just going to go right out and say it. This is awkward for me too, but it has to be said, okay? Don’t hate me for it. You already hate me enough when you’re older.”

 “I’m pretty sure I don’t hate you.”

 Stiles snorts. “God this is weird seeing you all young and stuff. You’re not as brooding and you’re kind of cute instead of lots of aggravation rolled up into hot muscle. Shit.” He smiles awkwardly. “You’re going to remember me saying that, aren’t you?”

 Derek stares.

 “Anyway,” Stiles clears his throat, watching Derek nervously by the door. “The older you doesn’t know I know this, but,” he bites his lip. “I know that you’re seeing her.”

 Derek goes pale. He had almost forgotten about Kate. He wonders if Stiles knows that he just came back from seeing her. Great.

 “And whatever happens, it’s not your fault, okay? Someone really, really needs to tell you that, but–”

 “Do you want me to wait? I can wait.” He blurts out.

 Stiles gives him a confused look. “Um. No, I mean, you can’t trust her. She doesn’t love you the way you love her. Kate is not – she’s not good news. You’ll get hurt.”

 Derek’s voice drops in deadly seriousness. “I can break things off with her tomorrow if you want me to. I can do that for you.”

 “You should do it for yourself, Derek. You’re what? Sixteen? She’s ancient.”

 His nostrils flare. No matter how attractive the guy in front of him is, no matter how good he smells or the fact he doesn’t seem freaked out about werewolves since he’s from the fucking future, he’s not sure if he likes him barging in here and ordering him about. Kate, Kate is. Well, she wouldn’t hurt him, that’s for sure. She may not be Stiles, but she is a person who let Derek in despite how young he is.

 If anything, it’s his age that’s the problem; not hers.

 “Just because you’re my –” he stops. “Just because you’re from the future doesn’t mean you can just tell me what to do.”

 Stiles gives him a sharp look. “Better me than him.”

 That’s true.

 Derek sighs and kicks off his shoes. His thoughts had been going a mile a minute but now he just wants to sleep before he has to deal with the fact his alter ego is going to be living with them for two months. “Stiles?” he finally says.

 “Yeah?” his shoulders sag in relief that one of them is speaking. His heart rate slows down a little.

 “I think he knows you know if he remembers us having this conversation.”

 Stiles throws his back against the bed and groans. “Honestly! He’s going to think I can’t keep my nose out of other people’s business.” He swears again, more colourfully this time.

 “Can you?” Derek smirks.

 Stiles sits right up and shoves him in the side. “I so can. This –” he gestures between the two of them, “needed to happen. I just shouldn’t have known. God. He’s going to kill me; you’re going to kill me.”

 Derek raises an eyebrow and offers a casual pat to Stiles’ back in comfort. Really, it’s just an excuse to touch him but Stiles’ eyes go wide at the action and he grabs Derek’s arm, staring at it like it’s some sort of extraterrestrial limb. He snatches it back quickly. Okay, no touching then.

 “Do you mind if I go talk to him?”  Stiles asks with a sigh. Derek shrugs; tries not to hate it as he watches Stiles leave.

>> 

 He can’t do it. He can’t just break things off with Kate the day after he slept with her. That’s too mean, even for him. In the morning, Derek stares at his phone and dreads getting out of bed. He puts the burning hot piece of metal in his trousers and hopes for the love of god he won’t have to run into his older self. He’ll just go to school and it will be fine.

 In the kitchen he runs into Peter. “Did you –?” Derek begins to ask.

 Peter snarls at him and nods. Derek’s lips press into a thin line and he can see he’s already going to be blamed for everything he hasn’t done yet. All that’s been added to the list are conversations he’s really not looking forward to happening because Peter seems pissed.

 Stiles is up though, staring gloomily at his breakfast plate.

 “Oh good, Derek, you’re up,” his mother barrels through the door and gives him a hug. It’s tighter and longer than she gives most days, normally busy and trying to get to work in the morning. Stiles turns to look at them and smiles nervously.

 “Hi,” Stiles says to him. He nods in return, still not sure how he’s meant to approach Stiles. “Derek went for a run with Laura before she has to go to school. She has a study period first class.”

 “Right,” he says, but he relaxes. He’s not sure if he can deal with future him’s looks for this morning. Stiles perks up a bit though, like he’s got some sort of idea. He shuffles on his seat and there’s a glint in his warm eyes.

 “Can I go to school with you? Please? It’s going to be super boring here all day with nothing to do. You’re really no fun when you grow up, I should warn you. And since we’re here two months I reckon I can leave the research on how to get back for one day. Please?” he says again, twisting on the seat so that his shirt rides up. Derek swallows.

 “Um. Sure. I can sneak you in somehow. But I don’t understand how you can like _me_ and hate him at the same time,” Derek says. Stiles chin turns away and he mumbles something into his next spoonful of food. It’s too quiet even for Derek to hear.

 Peter comes back through the door then, and Stiles automatically scowls at him. “Forget to look in a mirror?” he calls out.

 “Does Peter have a beauty regime where you’re from?” Derek snorts.

 “I guess,” Stiles says back, the hint of a smile near. Derek watches him watch Peter until his uncle is out of the house once more, a displeased smile on his face. “Peter’s a dick. You,” he points a finger at Derek like he can convince him of something. “You shouldn’t put up with him either.”

 Derek sighs. He’s got a feeling that he’s going to get this a lot from Stiles. The older him seems too wrapped up in his own head and unwilling to listen to Stiles so he’s probably going to get the bulk of it now. He can’t bring himself to care too much, though. Any Stiles is a good Stiles as far as he’s concerned. He certainly doesn’t smell bad and he smells like he can trust him.

 “You could tell me what he does that’s so bad,” he hints. Stiles rolls his eyes and claps him on the shoulder as he stands. He’s still wearing the clothes from last night. Derek hesitates. “Do you, uh, want to borrow some clothes?”

 Stiles beams. “Oh my gosh, _yes._ I am dying to get out of these. Wait. Are you sure you don’t mind me wearing your clothes? Won’t it be weird in the werewolf way? Like with my scent.”

 Derek shrugs. “I don’t mind.” Maybe he’ll come home wearing Derek’s stuff; Derek will give him his jumper that’s got some of his own scent still on it. The older Derek won’t like it. While they do smell the same it’s different enough for anyone of the ‘wolves to notice. If future him is too stupid to get Stiles it’s not going to stop Derek from trying to make it okay.

 Stiles is bigger than he looks underneath all those over and under shirts. Right now, he and Derek are approximately the same size, even if his own shoulders are slightly wider. Stiles’ body is longer though, and it’s nice to look at. His wolf settles happily when he sees Stiles wearing his things, not caring that it’s a little possessive.

 He’s surprised he’s forgotten so quickly about Kate. Well, not forgotten. Just sidelined for a bit while he gets over the initial shock of meeting his mate. Stiles’ words are still clear in his head, and no matter what he says he doesn’t want to hurt Kate.

 Cora raises her eyebrows when she sees Stiles dressed in Derek’s clothing. “You need to go shopping if you’re going to be here for so long.”

 Stiles shrugs, slipping his thumbs into the holes at the end of the sleeves. “Aw, are you willing to take me?.” He darts his eyebrows up, once, twice and Cora gives him a dry stare. Derek fights back a growl.

 “I’m fourteen,” she says.

 “Fourteen and scary.” He grabs Derek’s hand and drags him out of there. “Come on, let’s go before you arrive home and you have a war with your own eyebrows.” He snorts. “Now that would be entertaining.” Derek leaves Stiles to his amusement and obvious distraction while he slips back inside to yell at Cora to hurry up and to quickly unpeel a banana.

 In the car, Cora sits in the back seat, seatbelt unbuckled so that she can lean forward between Derek and Stiles’ space. Stiles seems amused every time he gets an eyeful of his younger sister, probably because she’s different to what Stiles has to put up with at home.

 Derek knows what Stiles has to put up with home regarding himself, and he’s not very happy about it. It doesn’t even look like there’s a possibility of them being together in the future. His nostrils flare whenever he thinks about it, and he wants to punch his older self for more than just being a sour douche.

 “So,” says Cora, smiling with a hint of teeth. “Laura says you and the other you have a little secret. I’m pretty sure I can get it out of you more than I can get it out of,” she pauses, “the other you.”

 Stiles gives a small grin beside him, but his eyes stay on the road.

 “Don’t even bother trying, Cora,” Derek says in his best attempt to sound menacing. “Besides, I’m keeping one of his secrets too. A secret kept for a secret kept. I’m sure it will work out.”

 Stiles head gives a jerk of surprise. “What can you possibly know about him?”

 Derek shrugs, trying to play it cool. In reality, his skin is buzzing and he’s pretty sure Cora can tell how fast his heart is beating. She twists her lips into an accusatory look. “Tell me,” she says. “You don’t have to tell him, sorry Stiles, but tell me. Please.”

 “I’m not throwing myself under the bus!” he says grumpily.

 “You kind of want to, though,” Stiles points out, eyes flashing over to Derek’s face. “I would know.”

 Derek growls under his breath. Stiles laughs.

 Cora bounds off as soon as they’ve pulled into the school parking lot, leaving the two alone in the car. Now that his sister is gone it’s just their two scents intermingling in the closed space. Stiles stares at the glass window and wrinkles his nose.

 “It looks just the same,” he says.

 “It’s high school.”

 “Yeah,” Stiles sighs.  “Look, I just wanted to talk to you again. Do you reckon you’ll do what I say? I don’t suppose it matters much, but I think you’ll feel better about it later.”

 “You mean break things off with Kate.”

 Stiles nods vigorously, and still, even with the hindsight of the future and how much he’s willing to wait for his mate, he’s still not convinced. He’ll do it slowly. Derek will say goodbye to her, but he’s got to wait a certain number of days, doesn’t he? And he can’t do it through text.

 “I can go with you, if you want,” Stiles suggests.

 Derek glares at him. “I can take care of this by myself.”

 “You’re going to have a lot of practice with that glare,” Stiles says at him, turning in his seat so that Derek can clearly see the beginnings of a grin.

 “When I glare at you, you mean?” Derek says, folding his arms.

 “Yeah,” Stiles’ voice trails off and his eyes wander to the side as if he’s remembering. There’s a vague chuckle leaving his throat but it’s tinged with something else. His body isn’t giving him away, not his heart nor his hormones. Derek doesn’t know what he’s feeling. “You don’t like me when we first meet – well when I first meet you.”

 “Why?” he can’t imagine not liking Stiles.

 “I kind of get you arrested? Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he tilts his head to the side and tugs the jumper Derek gave him. It clings to his arms nicely. “Don’t look forward to it.” Derek tries to press for more, but the more he does Stiles seems to look more and more like he is regretting giving away that piece of information.

 Stiles follows him into the school, pretends to be a transfer student. Mostly, the teacher’s don’t bat an eyelid at him. They don’t even notice that he’s not meant to be there. He introduces Stiles to his friends, trying to ignore the snort that Stiles lets escape. He’s probably surprised Derek has friends – mostly from basketball – and Derek doesn’t blame him. His older self is a real tool.

 “Why are you even here?” Derek asks him in the corridor. All day Stiles has seen something that’s lead to some derisive comment Derek doesn’t understand, or Stiles has laughed to himself quietly. He’s recognised some of the teachers and sits back in those classes with a smug grin on his face. Derek doesn’t ask about it, just watches.

 “So, I’m going to be here two months, right? I don’t know if when we get back it’ll be two months forward from when we left or not. I can’t get behind. The syllabus can’t have changed too much,” he decides. “We’ve already done _To Kill a Mockingbird_ though. I aced that pop test.”

 “You actually did the test?”

 Stiles grins. “Yeah. Though, not that you’re not stellar company, dude, but I think I might just get all the course work from you. I can’t subject myself to school without my buddy Scott.”

 “And you’ve got to figure out how to get home.”

 He pouts. “Want to get rid of me, then?”

 Derek can’t help it when he flushes. He goes an even darker shade of red when he realises Stiles has noticed. Of course he doesn’t want him to leave; he doesn’t think he can wait the six or seven years to see Stiles again in the proper timeline. “Just me,” he says instead, thinking of his older frown.

 “Ah, but then my Derek won’t have any version of me. That’ll be you, you know,” Stiles says. He seems to be enjoying himself.

 There’s a tight flare of something inside Derek’s chest when Stiles uses the phrase _my Derek_. He doesn’t like how that’s the way Stiles has chosen to distinguish between the future, present, or past Dereks, depending on your perspective. He wants to be Stiles’ Derek.

 He walks a little faster down the corridor, nodding at those who call out to him. The last bell of the day has just gone and they walk out to the car and wait for Cora. The sun beats down on them and the silence is okay, but he wishes that they could talk which is unlike him. He wriggles out of his jacket and presses his back against the hot slice of his car. Stiles glances at him.

 “Shit,” he hears him mutter.

 “What?”

 “Nothing,” he says hurriedly. “Well, you and my Derek have more in common than I realised.”

 “Huh,” is all Derek says, eyes focusing on the patterns of the clouds.

>> 

 When they arrive back home Peter is in the living room. He and Stiles’ eyes meet and Stiles gives him a disarming grin. There’s a slight bit of malice to it, and Derek desperately wants to know what’s gone down between them. Peter returns the look with just as much force though Derek can tell he’s frustrated about being in the dark.

 “Woah,” he hears Stiles say in the kitchen. “You can cook?”

 Derek follows him in, and there’s his older self wearing an apron and his hands are covered in flour. “Yes,” the guy replies dryly. “I can.”

 The older man’s eyes fall on his younger self and Derek frowns back at him. There’s a shifty beat in the air before future Derek’s eyes pass over him like he’s not actually there. He can deal with being ignored. He doesn’t want the man’s attention anyway, and he doesn’t quite like how Stiles has automatically migrated to him.

 He tries not to scowl, and there’s a smirk forming on the base of future Derek’s lips. Damn, he probably knows what Derek is thinking between his glares.

 “Having a good time there?” his older self says.

 “The best,” he snaps back and he stomps up the stairs.

>> 

 Dinner is eventful. Both Dereks sit as far apart from each other as the table will allow, but they still manage to fight with each other. Actually, Derek is more of the sullen teenager his body and mind betrays him as while the older him is all sighs and glares. Despite the frowns, future Derek can’t look his younger self in the eye.

 “Can I go out tomorrow night?” Derek asks his mother. “A bunch of us from the team are seeing a movie.”

 “Mark gets sick and you postpone it,” future him says in a low drawl, picking up the salt.

 Derek glares at him, aware he could by lying. “Mom, can I go?”

 “Honey, you hate the theatres. ‘Wolves tend to,” she says.

 “Can I go?” he repeats for what feels like the hundredth time.

 “There’s no point.”

 Derek turns to himself, noticing the way his eyes roll. His older self puts his cutlery forward and folds his arms as if he’s bracing himself for whatever is going to come out of Derek’s mouth. Derek doesn’t care if the man knows what he’s going to say, he’s going to say it anyway. “Just because you know all the shit –”

 “Language,” his father says. His younger brothers are present.

 “That’s going to happen around here doesn’t mean you get to tell me what’s what. I still have a say in the matter.”

 “You really don’t,” his voice sounds bitter.

 “Boys, stop bickering,” Talia interjects. “You’re acting like your sisters.”

 Laura and Cora look up from their food, protests starting at their mouths. Derek sinks back into his chair, an awful look on his face while beside him Stiles sighs. It’s Peter who speaks first, though.

 “I wonder what you did, Derek, to make this one hate you so much,” he says in a nasty whisper. Both Dereks begin to colour though the younger one doesn’t quite know why. He knows he’s done something, knows it’s probably to do with Kate, but his imagination isn’t providing him with any ideas as to what.

 “That’s none of your business,” Stiles snaps at Peter.

 “And it’s yours?” Peters snarls.

 “No,” Stiles says. “But you’re worse than Derek thinks _he_ is.”

 The older Derek snorts.

 “Oh, am I now?”

 Talia gives the two considering looks, and her, more than anyone at the table seems to want the information for herself. She leans on her elbows, her lips poised as if she’s weighing her options, eyes tired and heavy. Peter and Stiles continue bickering with each other, but Stiles face is stern and unforgiving. This Peter knows nothing about Stiles, knows nothing to hold anything against him and there’s less of a weight to his insults.

 Finally, finally, Talia butts in. “Stiles,” she says. “I don’t know what Peter will do to make you so mad, but if you could please refrain from punishing him for it before it has happened, that would be good. Can you do that?”

 “Okay,” Stiles replies.

 “You’re lying,” Talia says easily.

 Stiles lets out a wide groan. “Oh my gosh, if you knew you wouldn’t be saying this to me.” The older Derek kicks him under the chair, and Stiles tries to use anger to mask his pain. He huffs. “Well Peter can’t hurt me. Yet.”

 Peter’s smile curls around his lips, and both Dereks face him with disgust, with a protectiveness that passes by quite unnoticed by the rest of the family.

 Stiles sighs. “I guess I can act more like a guest.” Talia nods her thanks, but her lips are in a cold, hard line. It’s not directed at Stiles, though, it’s directed at Peter. Derek thinks she knows more than she’s letting on.

 The trip to the movies does get postponed, to Derek’s disappointment.

>> 

 He gets a text from Kate that evening, she wants to talk. Around him, his family are watching the tv, Stiles sprawled out on the floor like he already owns it. He says biting comments to Peter, most of which the rest of the family ignores.

 Cora whines for a hot chocolate, and it’s soon followed by eight year old Henry and eleven year old Tyler begging for one too. The older him gets up straight away, Stiles watching him carefully. When he returns to the room there’s one for Stiles too, and he gets a sunny grin in return. The older Derek rolls his eyes at him.

 The older Derek lets his hand run across Tyler’s back, lets his scent linger on him. Derek watches as he pulls Henry back into his lap as they watch the television. It’s sweet, Derek guesses. But he feels like he’s going to have to compete with being a better older brother. It’s too hard, having to compete with himself. It sucks.

 His phone goes off again.

 “Are you going to answer that?” the older Derek says in a sharp voice, eyes still on the tv as he rubs his palm up and down Henry’s side. The pack likes touch. He gets a glare in return and Stiles looks up from the floor. Derek ignores his older self but sends Kate a text back, tells her that he doesn’t know when he’ll next be able to meet up. It’s enough for now, he reckons.

 The tension in the room seems to pass and Derek stares at Stiles’ long limbs on the ground, the way his back curves and neck reaches up to get a glimpse at the flashing pictures on the tv. To his right, the other him is looking too.

 “Stiles?” Derek asks.

 “Yeah,” his attention is on the screen.

 “I’ve got some pyjamas you can wear to bed,” he offers. The Derek beside him gives a low hiss, because yes, Stiles gets to wear his clothes not the older Derek’s. His. Stiles’ scent will mingle on the pyjamas for days, hopefully, before they need to be washed again. Derek knows what he’s doing to his older self, knows that he’s playing a game for the attention of their mate.

 “That would be good,” Stiles says back, nudging Derek’s leg with his toes.

 “Actually,” Derek’s father, Andrew, says from the next couch. “I think Stiles will be more comfortable sharing with you Derek, than with, uh, you Derek,” he points at the older man whose face is a clear canvas of indifference. “Is that okay?”

 “Sure,” Derek says, trying not to feel smug. Stiles agrees easily enough.

>> 

 “Dude, drive me to the vet tomorrow?” Stiles asks him a few days later. Laura had taken him shopping, the older Derek too. He tugs at his clothes like they’re uncomfortable, but he looks great in them. Derek is pretty sure Laura had the only say on all purchases, and it’s not like Stiles could bring money with them so she probably felt like she had the right to.

 “Why?”

 Stiles rolls his eyes. “You’re the ‘wolf, gotta get you looked at.”

 Derek grimaces. “Can’t _your_ Derek drive you?” He’s had to listen for the past couple of days of Stiles calling the other him that.

 “Um,” Stiles runs a hand through his hair. “I’m giving him space. He’s spending time with his family.”

 He groans before he can help himself. “Did you have a fight? God, I am not looking forward to that.”

 Stiles smiles. “No. Can’t bear to fight with me, big guy? Afraid you’ll lose?”

 Derek remains silent for a few seconds before he answers with a grumble. “We’re the same size.”

 There’s a sweep of a hand and Stiles clears his throat, gesturing at Derek’s torso. “I, I don’t have any of that going on.” Derek frowns, and then Stiles just looks pissed. “Look, you’re already on your way to getting ripped and I’m really not.”

 Derek shrugs. “I think you look fine.”

 “What a glowing recommendation, dude. Be sure to tell Lydia Martin that,” Stiles’ lips have dipped into a slight frown and the mention of whoever this girl is makes the wolf inside Derek curl in jealously. There’s clearly something going on there, the way Stiles’ words had dripped with something he can’t quite define. No wonder the older him isn’t having any luck.

 He’s about to open his mouth to ask more, to figure out exactly how far Stiles’ feelings go when his original question gets answered.

 “I know the guy in the future. He might have books on time travel. I was trying to do a protection spell when we came here but it went wrong. There might be something useful to help us get home.”

 “I’ll take you,” Derek replies.

 When he picks Stiles up again, he looks frustrated.

 “Find anything?”

 “No.”

>> 

 Derek pulls off his socks with a little bit more force than necessary. His claws have retracted by the time Stiles gives a hesitant knock on the door and a few seconds later there’s a pale face between the wooden of the walls and the door. Derek breathes him in.

 He’s sitting on his bed, shirt off and in his boxers, ready to crash for the night. Everything feels heavier with two of himself in the house, with the older Derek walking around like everything might break. Like _he’s_ going to break something.

 The warmth of his own body is craving another’s, and the heat Stiles supplies when he sits on the corner of the bed would be enough, if only he could touch. Derek just wants some comfort because he feels starved. The rest of their family has taken to the older him considerably, has loved the way he’s always doing things for them. Doing favours that aren’t really favours because it’s obvious he’s not expecting anything in return.

 He feels left out, if he’s being honest. And even Stiles can talk to the older Derek about his theories, about the future, about anecdotes that involve a friend called Scott that Derek doesn’t understand because he’s never met the guy.

 It’s painfully obvious he doesn’t know Stiles very well, and he wants to.

 Derek sighs. “He won’t look at me in the eye.”

 “Dude,” Stiles says. “You’re him. He’s you. Whatever he’s blaming you for is what he’s blaming himself for. And he tends to do that a lot, so much that he’s an idiot. So it’s not your fault just because he thinks it is. His view isn’t exactly objective, okay? And I need you to remember that when you feel you’re more him than you.”

 It’s as if Stiles is pleading with him, but even now Derek gets that these are words he’d rather the older Derek hear. So he brushes it aside and claims he’s tired when it’s only nine o’clock. Stiles slips out of the room, the thrumming of his heart beat clear.

 >>

 Derek is still awake when Stiles falls into the room. He tries to be quiet, that much is obvious, but there’s a certain amount of flailing going on that’s hard not to notice. There is muffled swearing as Stiles’ toes scrape under the door and Derek hears the unzipping of metal as Stiles removes his pants. In the darkness, Derek’s cheeks go red.

 Stiles finally gets settled, butt wriggling over the mattress as he tries to get comfortable.

 “You finished?” Derek asks.

 “Asshole. If I knew you were awake I would’ve so turned on the light,” he hisses through the air.

 “How’s your foot?”

 “Fuck off.”

 They stay in what’s probably silence to Stiles but Derek can hear the mad pounding of his heart. The sound is low on the floor, but it only gets faster the more Derek listens to it. He tries to use it as an anchor or pivot for sleeping, but the sound is far too unnatural for him to smooth into unconsciousness.

 “What is it?” he whispers, and Stiles swears again.

 “Stop creeping on my heart,” he grumbles, his pulse rattling faster. His breaths are short, but Derek doesn’t have to wait very long before Stiles scrambles to his feet and bangs into the bedside table when he turns on the light. He falls onto Derek’s bed, knees pressing against his legs through the covers so much so that Derek has to wriggle away.

 In the light, the shadows still coating the edge of the room, Stiles stares at him with a determined expression. Derek gulps. With all his flailing Stiles had chosen to forgo a shirt when he went to bed, and despite everything, despite still having Kate, despite the older him knowing every damn thing he has or is about to do or even wants, it takes Derek a lot not to bury his face in Stiles neck and just bite.

 It’s purely a mess of attraction because Derek does not know Stiles well enough, just knows that one day he will. Maybe. His older self seems to be shooting himself in the face regarding the matter.

 “Look,” Stiles says, a little breathless. “I know we only met like, last week, but there’s something I really, really want to do and I think I can stop being scared about it but I need your help. I’ve been thinking about it the last couple of days and I want to do it, okay? I want to do it.”

 The words come out in a rush, muffled by the brush of his lips over each other because Stiles doesn’t open his mouth properly in an attempt to whisper. Derek takes the words in, hears the pleading, hears the thud of a pulse in Stiles’ veins. “What is it?” He will do this for his mate.

 Stiles pauses. “I want to sneak in.”

 Derek waits for him to elaborate.

 “To the hospital.”

 “I don’t understand.”

 “She’s going to die tomorrow,” the smell of sadness that hits him is overwhelming and Stiles’ voice is tight, like it hurts for him to speak. “My Mom,” he clarifies, running a hand through his hair. He shoots Derek a look, face crinkling at the effort of explaining something people normally already know. “At this point, there’s always someone with her. My dad. Me. Just someone. But, but, I can’t remember why but neither dad nor I were with her, we had gone home for something. Sleep, probably. I don’t think I was getting any at the hospital. But I don’t want her to be alone, and now that I’m here, it’s kind of hard not to want that.”

 Derek nods vigorously, sitting up a little straighter and taking in the pained contortion of Stiles’ features.

 “I would’ve seen her already but I know there’s a chance of fucking things up and freaking people out if they recognise me, and I mean, who’s going to let some random kid into a patient’s room? But I have to try. I want to see her.”

 “Okay,” Derek whispers. “Okay. We’ll go tomorrow. What time?”

 “We’ll go late afternoon.”

>> 

 Stiles’ lips are a tight line when Derek drives him over. His older self sat by the counter, watching Stiles leave with an unreadable expression on his features but didn’t move to stop them. According to Stiles they had already discussed him bumping into people from his own timeline, and the problem of accidentally knowing too much about people you shouldn’t.

 Derek shot a look back to his future self, trying to understand what he’s trying to achieve in regards to Stiles. They stared at each other a few seconds, the glare surprisingly absent, and instead there was a look of sorrow, of pity, and Derek didn’t like what he saw. It was gone in the blink of an eye, replaced with disgust once more. The older him can’t bear to look at Derek too long.

 They don’t say anything to each other, and Derek waits in the car, claiming to go to a friend’s house with Stiles so that the rest of his family don’t try to stop him seeing his mother. His dying mother. Derek tracks Stiles’ heartbeat with his ears, follows it carefully until it’s lost behind the walls and with panicked people. He waits. He fiddles with the buttons on his phone, the phone Stiles took a good look at and snorted at because of the terrible model.

 His mate had come to him to share this enormous piece of him. Derek could weigh that in his hands, and now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure Kate hasn’t entrusted him with anything of that weight. She hasn’t said the words _I trust you,_ like Stiles’ actions seem to speak.

 Derek knows that a lot of work regarding his relationship with Stiles has already been done by him, has past in his future, but he can’t quite help himself questioning the way he doesn’t really feel like he could give this much to Kate either. And Stiles has said not to trust the woman. He just likes the way she makes him feel wanted, and he loves her for that.

 Perhaps he should’ve gone in with Stiles.

 He sends a text to her, asking to talk, just as the frame of Stiles’ body makes it through the double doors. His hands are in his pockets, shoulders hunched forward, breathing erratic. Slowly, Stiles makes his way to the car and he shakily lowers himself to the seat.

 Derek sniffs at the air, hides the action, and he doesn’t like what he finds. Stiles is a mess, barely holding it together and he doesn’t know why he agreed to take him. He gets out of the car and walks around, gently pulling Stiles out so that the fresh air paints on his skin.

 “You’ll be okay,” Derek murmurs. “I can see that.”

 His hand rubs slow circles onto Stiles’ back but he gives him his space as he waits for the dry sobs to end. To Derek’s relief, a while later Stiles’ heart beat begins to calm and his breaths open up the less Stiles tries to struggle with it.

 “Do you need anything?” he asks. Stiles glances at his hand still pressed against his back, so he moves it instantly.

 “No,” he says in a small voice. “I don’t know. I just watched my mother die, Derek. Then the nurse kicked me out.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 “Look, can you just drive me back to the house, okay?”

 “I can look after you,” Derek says in a soft voice, deadly serious.

 Stiles falters for a second before his nostrils flare. “Look, Derek, you’re great, okay? You’re great. And maybe I’m not used to you caring so much about me but even though my Derek is – he’s different that way – you’re still not my Derek. I want to see him. You wouldn’t understand, it’s just, I don’t have to explain myself. He’s from my timeline, he already knows,” his mouth remains open for a second, as if he wants to add something else but thinks better of it.

 “We’re the same person,” Derek points out, trying to keep that rattling feeling of competing with himself at bay.

 “Yeah, you are.”

 “Stiles.”

 “Just take me back to the house.”

 “Okay,” Derek replies.

>> 

 When they get home Stiles’ Derek is already waiting on the front porch and he swipes the keys from Derek’s hand without so much as looking at him, ready to drive Stiles away again.

 Derek waits for them. Wonders what they are discussing. He isn’t exactly one to think about his future but right now the opportunity has been handed to him and he isn’t sure what to think of it. His mother sees him frowning in the kitchen, waiting for the meal future him has already cooked the family to heat up.

 “Are you proud of me?” he asks.

 Talia’s eyebrows lift in surprise before settling back down into an understanding expression. She leans over the bench top and kisses the top of his head, though at the same time Derek takes in her rigid posture, the way she holds herself like she knows what’s coming. “I will always be proud of you, Derek.”

 He slips out of her touch, unconvinced, and lets his form shift so that he can run faster than he could if he was human.

>> 

“You know,” says Stiles, eyeing Peter unnecessarily. The rest of the family give a collective sigh as two sharp gazes pierce each other. Even the little ones sense the bored tension in the room and start colliding into each other as they go outside to play a game of tag. “I should ruin that book series for you.”

 The older Derek takes a careful look at Stiles before joining his younger siblings. It’ll probably be okay, then, Derek decides. The older him can probably remember that everything turns out fine here which is why he’s taking the leisure to play with Tyler and Henry. Derek himself used to do that but ever since Kate, and school, and friends, he hasn’t exactly been around much anymore.

Derek is left to watch the exchange between Stiles and his uncle.

 Peter narrows his eyes. “What could’ve possibly come over you to want to know the ending to a book like this?”

 Stiles grins, shifting his butt on the couch. He had come home late last night and this morning the werewolves’ noses knew to stay away, knew that unexplained grief washed near. Peter probably could still smell it, Derek was sure, but he pressed on.

 “Oh, you know, just because I’m a kid doesn’t mean I haven’t done my fair share of reading.”

 “You’re not a kid,” Peter says at him. “You know too much and you’re meddlesome. There’s a difference.”

 Stiles shrugs, smirking like he knows something the rest of them don’t know. “Want to know the end?” he taunts.

 Peter’s nostrils flare and the girls’ eyes flit back and forth between their visitor and their uncle. The older man dares Stiles to be defiant, and it’s not a secret in their family that once Laura accidentally spoiled the ending of the first novel in this series and had never lived it down. They don’t warn Stiles.

 Stiles sighs. “I would do it, you know, but,” he pauses and the slight way Peter leans forward makes Derek uncomfortable, makes him want to go forward and snatch Stiles away. “But something happens to the author. The books never get finished and no one knows what will happen.”

 Cora laughs and steals some of the chips Stiles has by him. He looks positively gleeful with himself, and Derek supposes that the novels not finishing would be worse than having the series spoiled. A low growl threatens to escape Peter’s mouth at Stiles’ cheekiness, but it stops before it’s loud enough for human ears to hear.

>> 

 As the time passes, Stiles is getting more frustrated. Derek is in tune with him, watching him carefully as he comes back from the vet’s everyday with a heavier weight on his shoulders. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t want to know about the time travel business, but he can’t help feel smug that Stiles and the older him seem to be bickering every few minutes. Though, the older him looks pained every time it starts.

 “Looks like you’re not doing very well with him,” Derek says under his breath when they both go to the kitchen to get water for the dinner table. Their father had asked him, actually, but the older Derek had gotten up willingly enough at their shared name, wanting to help. He was made to go anyway.

 Derek’s ignored.

 “You’re quite a disappointment,” he admits, trying to make it sound irritated. “You’d think I’d grow up to actually be something.” He gets a roll of eyes.

 They sit back at the table, chairs squeaking as they both try to advertise their presence the most, both try to take up the most space between them. Cora is rattling off an anecdote about her school day and about her English class and how dull it is.

 There’s a slight pause, and his insides sink at the smirk that forms on future him’s face. “Derek here writes poetry, perhaps he can help you. He keeps the book under his mattress.”

 Laura turns to stare at him while Peter laughs. Cora’s the one off her chair in a flash, taking the stairs two at a time as Derek’s cheeks go pink. They’re going to find the journal fill of his thoughts and his stupid poems that he stopped writing in months ago but never got around to throwing away. He doesn’t say anything.

Stiles looks delighted though, but directs his question to the older Derek. “You can write?”

 “Yes, Stiles,” the man replies dryly, and in a minute Cora has found the book and has proceeded to cackle, choosing new favourite lines every half a minute until Talia scolds her and tells her to put the book down. The boys are giggling at their seats at Derek’s obvious discomfort, cheeks flushed and eyes cast down. He scowls and he decides he’s getting pretty good at it.

>> 

 Laura gives him a direct look over the table like she can’t feel the tension building in the house the longer Stiles and his older self stay. He still hasn’t seen Kate since they arrived and it’s been over a month. He still is yet to break up with her though his texts are vague; more about his family that are coming to visit soon than his feelings, not really thinking about what he’s writing when he texts back.

 “So,” she says. “I know you don’t like your older self so do yourself a favour and tell me his secret.”

“How is that doing me a favour?”

 Laura gives a sly smile. “It’s not. I just know you don’t like him.”

“Stiles doesn’t like him at the moment,” he says. “They’re always bickering. Get him to tell you stuff about me, I’m sure he’d be happy to oblige.”

 Her eyes widen. “Good idea, little bro.”

 Great, now he will have to look forward to more blackmail material being used against him.

>> 

 Derek puts his younger brothers to bed and wanders down the stairs to see Stiles staring at the television, face set in a frown. His eyes are glazed over, a season finale he’s already seen on the screen while Derek’s sisters are watching intently. The other Derek is on the opposite side of the couch, sneaking a few glances at Stiles every moment he can help himself.

 He plops himself down between the two of them, startling future him into a groan.

 “You keep on forgetting when I’m going to be a nuisance, don’t you?” he smirks to himself. The side of his body is aligned with Stiles and the teenager looks conflicted when Derek says hello to him.

 “Hi,” he finally replies, voice distant.

 “Is this one giving you a hard time?” Derek whispers at him, and the older Derek’s nostrils flare.

 “You could say that.”

 “What’s the matter?”

 “I just want to go home.” Stiles casts a look over Derek’s head and he feels the older him tense on his other side, his werewolf ears picking up on the way future him’s teeth grind against each other. Stiles looks back at the screen before the older Derek can make eye contact with him.

 On the floor, his sister’s exchange a glance.

 The older Derek’s shoulders curve backwards and turn to stone as he stands, his steely look infiltrating the air around him so that everyone can feel the tension. Stiles bites his bottom lip, his spine growing taller the closer the older Derek gets to the door like he’s glad he’s leaving.

 “I’m not surprised you don’t want to spend time with him,” Derek mutters. Everyone hears it.

 “No one should want to spend time with you,” comes a snap just before the door closes. The words are covered in hatred, loaded with meaning and Stiles sighs next to him, rubbing his face with his hands. Derek still doesn’t know what he’s done, and the way the commercial break is heard clearly through the speakers tells him that the rest of the family want to know what he’s going to do too, as they perk their ears up to heartbeats and hushed words. God damn it if his family is going to wonder, is going to hate him too before he’s done the deed.

 He stares at the screen and avoids all their gazes even as Stiles tells him not to listen to his older self, but he can’t hear that. Why should he have to listen to Stiles when Stiles obviously doesn’t care enough about the older him? They’re still the same person, despite how annoying future Derek can be.

 It’s hard to be on the same side as himself when he wants to punch those pretty features his mother has been telling him he’d grow into.

 Because it hurts knowing your mate will never want you. So he doesn’t care when Stiles tries to get him to listen, just ignores him and climbs to his feet to follow the older Derek’s scent outside, moving around the edge of the porch and heading to the trees.

 He’s waiting for him.

 “The more hell you give me the more you get later,” he snarls, hand moving up to shove him against the side of the house except he thinks better of it.

Derek glares. “Well it works both ways, so you better be nice to me.”

 The older him’s teeth flash under the half moonlight. “Not really. I’ve already gone through it, so it doesn’t matter how mean I am to you.”

 “Stiles says you should be nice to me,” he says nastily. “Maybe he’d like you better if you were.”

 That must hit a nerve because future Derek’s eyes flash blue, much more striking now that Derek can see it from someone else’s perspective. A low growl travels to his ears before the older Derek can help himself, claws lengthening at his sides. The disgust that meets Derek under the bright blue stare pushes a trembling feeling out of his heart, and he can’t bear it, it’s almost as if the older Derek wants him to fight.

 “He likes me just fine,” his eyes travel over to the house but they’re far enough away that their family can’t hear their battle. “Everything is where I want it. We’re friends.”

 “Yeeeah, _friends_.”

 Older Derek’s jaw clenches. “You shouldn’t get him to fight for you.”

 Derek opens his mouth to reply, fighting the urge to swipe his claws along Derek’s torso, ripping his shirt up and ripping up the horrible image he is to become. The older him is so mean, and he doesn’t understand how. He doesn’t understand what happens to make him that way, but future him does, and Stiles does too by the look of things.

 But at that moment Stiles does wander in, taking in their postures, – feet apart and bodies curved forward – taking in the elongated teeth and the mutual flash of eyes. The older Derek looks as though he should’ve expected his arrival, body tensing as he steps away from the younger Derek to retract his claws and teeth.

 Stiles’ cheeks are flushed and he looks as though he’s been tugging on his own hair in deliberation as to whether he should follow the two of them or not. His feet stand rooted to the ground, his beautiful eyes bright with anger.

 He turns to Derek’s future self. “You have got to stop your stupid self-loathing complex. Until we get home you can be mean to yourself all you want, but don’t be mean to you as a sixteen year old. I don’t care about your reasons; I will stop talking to you. You’re being a bully. And then when we get home we’re going to work on self-love, okay? You need it.”

 The figure his words are meant for remains silent but Derek snorts. Stiles eyes turn and he gives him a nasty look in response.

 “There you are,” he says, like he was wondering all along how someone like Derek could turn into what he is in the future. Stiles twists on his heel and heads back towards the house.

 “Shit,” Derek says.

 “Yeah.”

 He pauses. “Maybe someone hasn’t given up on you yet. I certainly would have.”

 “I know,” the older him replies. Within seconds he has slinked into the night.

>> 

 He stares at the ground moodily after coming back into the house, pausing for a moment by the door as his sisters have dominated the space around Stiles on the couch. Their eyes meet and Derek blinks a few times before looking down, ignoring Laura’s laugh at some joke as he traipses up the stairs.

 Stiles does not come in for hours, presumably waiting for Derek to fall to sleep. He tries falling onto his covers and wriggling to get comfortable but all he can do is stare at the ceiling. All lights are off and the air is still once Stiles slowly creeps into the room. He tries to make his breathing as even as possible to feign sleep, but all it does is cement Stiles’ scent into his brain, wanting to be liked once more.

 He wants to make things better.

 Derek goes to offer to take Stiles to his research station before school the next morning but the blurry eyed buzz of his family is all he sees. Stiles has already gone with his older self and if he didn’t know any better it would be like a normal day. There would be no evidence of their future visitors.

>> 

 Things seem to be worse when Stiles finally returns. His heart beat is a flutter, its rhythm picking up and dropping down so low Derek has to stare at his burning wide eyes to make sure he’s alive. Stiles stomps forward and plucks the history book from Derek’s hands, throwing him the car keys. In Derek’s surprise, the side of metal almost scratches at his cheek, Stiles’ scent so wild and his demands forceful.

 “Where are we going?” Derek asks, giving into Stiles the only way he can think to calm him down.

 “Around,” he says, nostrils flaring as he glares Derek to his feet. The wolf inside of him whines at Stiles’ frantic pulse, wants him to be safe and happy when distress falls off his body like a landslide.

 The rest of the family are not home and his older self has made himself scarce. Derek sneaks a glance at Stiles as they fold into the car, his long hair tugged at and messy. He listens to Stiles’ directions, unsure where they are going, but despite Stiles’ appearance Derek feels like he can trust him.

 “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Derek says.

 “You’ll figure it out.”

 “Does that mean you and I had another fight?” Derek groans, hands gripping at the wheel a little tighter. He hears Stiles’ sharp inhale.

 “Not your fault,” he mumbles back. “Turn here.”

 They pull up to a house and before Derek can stop him Stiles has jumped up from the seat. Quickly, Derek follows him, glaring at the trail Stiles leaves behind when he goes to knock at the door. “What are you doing?” he hisses to Stiles, wondering why on earth this person was given to him as his mate. Derek wishes he wasn’t in the dark about so many things and that maybe other people’s behaviour could make sense.

 The door whips open and Stiles automatically straightens when a tall man with dark hair greets them with a hard expression. Derek sees the muscles in Stiles’ back tense in annoyance as he takes in the man.

 “Hi Mr McCall,” Stiles says under his breath, his lip curling.

 “Who are you?”

 Stiles raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth to probably give a biting reply but Derek sticks out his hand and cuts off Stiles’ words. “Derek Hale. We’re doing a survey, for, uh, school.”

 “You don’t seem too sure about that,” the man opposite them says, pulling the edge of the door closer and shielding the inside of his house. He eyes Derek’s hand for a moment before he takes it in a strong squeeze, where, if Derek wasn’t a werewolf would have hurt significantly. He keeps the wince from his lips and Mr McCall looks impressed.

 “We would simply like to ask you a few questions regarding the number of people in your household, who the breadwinner is, for example. It’s sort of like a mini census,” Derek supplies with a smile. Stiles stares at him. “It will only take a few moments of your time.”

 “They all say that,” Mr McCall says dryly. “Good luck with your project. I have to work.”

 He moves to shut the door but Derek’s ears pick up the sound of quick footsteps, and he places his hand on the wooden panel before Mr McCall can shut it. Derek pushes back enough that the strength of a grown man can’t shut the door in their faces straight away. He knows Stiles must be here for a reason, and he knows he shouldn’t indulge Stiles by letting him see people he knows from his own timeline, but Derek can’t help it.

 He smirks to himself when a skinny boy pokes his head around the door and Stiles lets out a breath of relief at the sight of floppy curls.

 “Hey buddy,” Stiles drops to his knees. “Mind if we ask you a few questions for school?”

 Mr McCall’s eyes narrow. “Fine. You can ask him if your project will allow it.”

 “I’m sure it will be fine,” Derek says, eyes on the retreating figure in front of him.

 “I’m Scott,” the kid says, and Derek’s lips part in understanding. “I don’t like school. My friend hasn’t been there for a while,” he lowers his voice. “His Mom died.”

 He hears Stiles’ heart jolt so he places a hand on the edge of Stiles’ shoulder, which just causes him to freeze and his heartbeat to flounder anyway. Derek doesn’t remove his hand at the obvious surprise, it only makes him give Stiles a small squeeze of comfort, feeling guilty for wanting to lean into the touch.

 “He kinda looks like you,” Scott says, peering forward. Stiles looks impressed.

 “I’m sure he’ll be back at school soon,” Stiles says. “And all you have to do is hang out with him almost like before.”

 Scott tilts his head to the side, looking unconvinced. “Questions?” he asks hesitantly.

 Derek sparks a few random ones off the top of his head, trying to ignore the increasing levels of sadness falling off of Stiles’ body. It’s driving him mad. He wants to know what’s going on in Stiles’ head, wants to know what’s filling him up with such intense emotion.

 At the end of it all Stiles reaches out his hand for a little fist bump from Scott, eyebrows raised hopefully. Scott gives a dopey grin, letting his knuckles collide messily before registering the tired set of Stiles’ eyes and swiping his hand away to pull him into a hug. Stiles collapses into it, still on his knees while he holds his younger friend tight. It’s Scott who has to pull back, tapping the edge of Stiles’ face awkwardly.

 “Nice to meet you?” his voice trails off.

 “Miguel,” Stiles replies and it’s all Derek can do to hold in a snort. Stiles tilts his head to the side, staring up at Derek with the evidence of a cheeky grin starting on his face.

 Scott just waves at him and at his father’s yell, retreats back into the house.

 “Home?” Derek asks hopefully, not wanting to give in to too much recklessness today.

 “To the station,” Stiles replies.

>> 

 The next visit to see the Deputy only involves observing at a distance. Stiles’ eyes are far too like his mother’s, far too unexplainable, and little Stiles is there with his father. The man seems busy, tired, sad; just keeping it together and Derek can see how much the older and younger Stiles want to comfort their father, but somehow they fall away from it.

 “You’ll see him when you get home,” Derek tries to say.

 “That’s not coming anytime soon,” Stiles says back, staring into the station. “I should go up and say something.”

 “You were the one who said you looked like your Mom,” Derek points out. “That would freak him out.”

 “I guess. Still want to see him, though.”

 “When do I see you in the proper timeline?” Derek says eagerly and as a distraction. He can see the smaller boy in the station who he wants to comfort, sees the boy who is supposed to come to mean something for him. Stiles is too young now, though. Too young for there even to be an excuse for Derek to talk to him, unless he devotes himself to being a babysitter, though he doubts Stiles’ father will be going out very much.

 Stiles shrugs, slouching forward on the window ledge. “When I am old enough to get you arrested.”

 “That’s not really giving me any clues,” Derek’s voice is tight.

 “I know.”

 “I wish I knew you better,” he says quietly, watching the way Stiles turns around in his seat to look at him. Dusk is upon them now, the silvery line of the moon hovering in the air.

 “You don’t trust me,” Stiles says slowly. “Why would you want to get to know me?”

 “So maybe then I can trust you,” Derek points out to Stiles’ scowl. There’s a scratchy silence in the car as Stiles’ eyes sink down to the leather seats. Derek can almost hear his mind working, wondering, trying to see the links between past and future, maybe. “You’re not real yet,” Derek continues. “I don’t know anything about you to make you real.”

 “I’m real enough to know that you should break things off with Kate,” Stiles says back at him, words hard. Derek scowls.

 “I haven’t talked to her in ages,” he snaps.

 “But you're still with her,” Stiles insists, concentration fully away from the station now.

  “Fine,” Derek says, hand darting out to twist the keys in the ignition. “I’ll drop you home then I’ll go and break up with her if that’s what you want. I’m surprised she hasn’t broken up with me first since I’ve barely spoken to her.”

 “Good,” Stiles says. “And don’t be afraid of hurting her feelings, now. She certainly doesn’t care about yours.”

 Derek narrows his eyes and in the back of his mind sees the gleam in Kate’s eyes whenever she looked at him. It made him feel wanted, being under that scrutiny, and he’s not going to believe Stiles when he says she’s going to hurt him. He doesn’t care if his words didn’t stutter, if his heart beat remained strong.

 But he will break up with Kate for Stiles, that much is a given.

 Seeing the people that make up Stiles’ life is enough to want to be in it so badly that he could potentially forget about Kate. But god damn it if Stiles makes him feel guilty for wanting to be with someone else before he had the opportunity to meet his mate.

 >>

 He drops Stiles to an empty house and tries to make sure there’s enough in the kitchen for him to eat, throwing the contents of their cupboards down on the marble table.

 “We don’t have much,” grunts Derek. “We’ll stock up before our cousins come in; your Derek offered to go shopping tonight. Some of them are human, they might like to meet you, talk about what it’s like being a human in a pack.”

 Stiles only frowns.

 “What?” Derek says, watching Stiles’ lips settle into a deep curve.

 “Uh,” Stiles says, eyes searching. “I just, uh, wasn’t sure if I was pack.”

 “You and Derek smell like you’re in each other’s pack,” he says stiffly and Stiles’ features spring up in surprise.

 “Yeah?”

 Derek rolls his eyes. God, if Stiles doesn’t even know that then he’s not sure what the hell is older self has been trying to do. He’s barely surprised they can consider themselves friends at the rate the relationship is going in.

 “Yes. Mom and Dad have taken the boys and Laura to meet our family at the airport before dinner, so you’ll be home alone while they’re out. You could’ve gone with them but we stole one of the cars and we’re probably going to get in trouble,” he says with a shrug. “Laura will be proud of me.”

 “And my Derek?” asks Stiles, a hint of regret on his tongue. He tries not to react to Stiles’ word choice, tries to keep the frazzle of jealousy at bay.

 “I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

 “I’m glad you’re doing this,” Stiles says when Derek goes to the door. “You’ll be too.”

 He pretends that he doesn’t hear the soft strike of Stiles’ voice and slips out of the house, heart locked in a steel cage as he goes to visit Kate, his _I want to meet up_ text falling away into the night.

>> 

Derek’s knuckles press against the hotel door where they had met the last time. He sees the sharpness of Kate’s teeth when she opens the door with a smile, her nails raking up the front of Derek’s shirt in greeting.

 “What can I do for you?” she asks in a low voice, slipping back into the room so that Derek can follow her in. He looks around and it’s exactly the same as when he had left it the last time, except for how the scent of sex has left the corners of the room.

 “Um,” replies Derek. He’s never had to break up with a girl before, but angry determination wrestles inside him. Stiles wants him to do this. He can do this.

 “Come back for more?”

 “Not exactly,” Derek replies, watching her carefully. The curve of Kate’s breasts are obvious underneath her navy top, her curls falling strong around her sharp face. She looks at him expectantly, patience already wavering into boredom.

 Her eyes scan his body, lip curling slightly. “Then what is it?”

 “I want to break up,” he says quietly but firmly. Kate looks offended, a glass horror of anger coating her eyes.

 “What if I need you, Derek?” she says, coming forward and crowding him into the wall. The door hasn’t been shut yet so she lets her hand swipe at the wood before letting it run down Derek’s torso. Her words are tempting; feeling needed attracts him like a bee to a flower. “Are you sure you don’t want to take some time to think about this?”

 He gulps, feeling her hand clasp around the waistband of his jeans and he hates himself for wanting it. Kate’s scent resides in his nostrils, anger and arousal darting off of her. Her teeth glint in the light of the cheap hotel room, her body pressing against his, her tongue running along the edge of her teeth as she goes to unbutton the top of his jeans.

 Derek stops his lungs. He lets his eyes shut and all thoughts of _StilesStilesStiles_ and guilt washes over him. He sees the smattering of moles on the side of his mate’s face and the bright smile he saw when they first met. Slowly, he raises his hands and presses them against Kate’s shoulders to push her away. He thinks he imagines the snarl.

 “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know you said you love me and I said it back, but I don’t feel the same way anymore.”

 Kate looks furious.

 “I’m sorry,” Derek says again, buttoning his jeans again awkwardly.

 “At least let us talk about it,” she insists. “I’ll get you a drink.”

 He doesn’t have it in him to say, again, that he doesn’t drink alcohol so he just nods. Kate grins wickedly, her red lips pulling tight over her teeth as she heads the hotel counter top. Derek stands by the door, deliberating going, but Kate is back before he can make his mind up.

 She thrusts the glass at him and he gives her a weak smile, taking it and sculling it even though he can’t get drunk. Kate looks pleased at that, and frankly, there’s less emotion in this whole break up than Derek thought there was going to be.

 “I just want to let you know, Derek,” Kate says with a glint in her eye, her words stretching out, “that you’ve already given me enough. I may not have expected this little turn of events; you are so young and impressionable,” she bites her lips and Derek suddenly sees a flash of hostility. “But even though you’re breaking up with me, you’re going to remember every scrap of our relationship. That, I can assure you.”

 “Um,” Derek says faintly, taking a few steps back. “I’m just going to go.”

 Kate just smiles as he leaves, the corners of her eyes narrowing at his retreating figure. By the time he makes it to the car, his head feels heavy but he feels a small net disintegrate to freedom and Stiles is the only face he wants to see.

 The leaves on the trees pass by too quickly and Derek’s face feels hot, the night air not doing anything to relieve the feeling when he steps out at home. He sways on the spot gently, his eyes flashing blue as things don’t come into focus. The noise of the insects in the night are amplified and Derek’s teeth lengthen against his lips at the uncomfortable feeling of not being able to use his senses properly.

 The only heartbeat in the house is Stiles’, and it’s enough to send Derek forward, to safety. When he gets to his room, Stiles is lying spread out over his bed, shirt off and looking delectable and Derek’s eyes grow dark. There, _there_ , is his mate.

 “Derek?” Stiles says, sitting up and letting a book fall off him. He’s still by the doorway, leaning against the edge of the wall for support. The plane of wood splinters underneath his grip, and Stiles gets off the bed, peering at him curiously. “You okay, buddy?”

 “I’m not your buddy,” Derek growls, hand swiping forward to rest on Stiles’ hip. His wolf preens at the contact, and he wants to ravish, wants to lick his way up Stiles’ torso to circle at his nipples. Derek runs his thumb across Stiles’ hipbone, smiling at the way he shivers from his frozen position.

 “Uh, D-Derek?” Stiles stutters, blood flushing along his collarbone.

 Derek can’t quite bring himself to leave the support of the wall, instead curling his hand around Stiles more firmly and dragging him forward. “You smell so good,” he murmurs, pressing Stiles against the vertical surface and lining his body over his. The scent of arousal picks up around him, and Derek just breathes because it’s perfect; it makes his head sway even more around him.

 “Oh God,” Stiles says over and over. “Oh God, this is happening, this is really happening.”

 Derek’s hand splays over Stiles’ torso and he dips his head forward and bites at Stiles’ earlobe, sweeping his tongue around the mark he makes. Stiles all but shudders underneath him, hands clutching Derek’s shirt, that heady smell infiltrating the room like it belongs there. Derek smiles when he realises Stiles likes it, he likes it a lot; melting into Derek as his mouth trails over Stiles’ neck, sucking at his pulse point as Stiles swears.

 “You smell so good,” he mutters, “you smell like mine. I broke up with her for you, Stiles.” He swipes his tongue over Stiles’ collarbone. “You’re my mate. I’m so fucking drawn to you, you’re so beautiful...”

 “What?” he hears Stiles say. Derek’s eyes snap up.

 “You’re my mate,” he repeats, eyes dropping down to Stiles’ open mouth. They’re hanging open in shock, tongue sweeping out to lick the bottom lip. Derek leans forward a little, hears Stiles’ breath hitch. He’s so close, so close to kissing, and his wolf is soaking up the situation greedily, till Stiles’ eyes aren’t really in focus anymore and everything is swimming, things are dark, he can smell Stiles, smell him so much, but everything else is gone.

 He hears Stiles’ concerned “ _Derek?”_ and then he drops to the floor, the world caving in on him.

>> 

 “Hey,” says a voice when he finally comes to. It’s Cora. “You’re finally awake.”

 Derek props himself up on his elbows, blinking hard as his eyes begin to focus. “What happened? I don’t – I don’t remember,” he tries to say. He remembers breaking up with Kate, the car ride over coming easily enough; stumbling inside makes its way into his head. He sees Stiles’ face, just his face, and everything else is gone.

 “You came home shortly before we all arrived and Stiles was freaking out a bit,” Cora grins, head tilting to the side at the memory. Derek glares at her. “He said you were acting a little strange and then you just fell to the floor.”

 “What happened, though?”

 She shrugs. “Wolfsbane poisoning. You’ll be fine.”

 “Well we all know that with future me poking his head around here,” Derek mutters, reaching for the water on the nightstand. Cora’s eyes glint with amusement, the edge of her teeth sneaking through her lips.

 “Laura and I have been trying to figure it out, you know,” she says.

 “What?”

 “That secret the two of you have.”

 Derek groans, sinking back down into his covers. He ignores Cora’s searching look, instead focussing on the sound of quick footsteps as Henry and Tyler fall into the room. Derek hauls them into his bed, listens to their heartbeats as he attempts to drown out the sound of his sister’s voice.

 “Mom wants to know how you got wolfsbane poisoning,” she says, irritated. Derek gives a shrug, unwilling to admit to anything. The details are still a little fuzzy.

 “Where’s Stiles?” he manages instead.

 “With you,” Cora replies, sending him a dirty look for ignoring her. “I’m going to school, you’re allowed the day off.”

>> 

 Derek greets the rest of his family with small smiles, holding his cousins close to his body and smiling at his aunt and uncle. They give him concerned looks, a little worried about him being poisoned.

 “Are hunters around?” he hears in low murmurs from the kitchen.

 “It’s likely,” Talia says, the strain evident in her throat..

 Derek lets his cousins go to play with Henry and Tyler, making his way to the kitchen where the floor is lined with half empty shopping bags. Talia’s eyes go wide when they fall on Derek, her feet taking her forward to plant a kiss on the top of his head. He shoves her away, embarrassed, but they’re all looking at him expectantly.

 “Please Derek, tell us what you know,” his mother says gently.

 He looks at the floor, because even though he doesn’t want to admit it, Kate was exactly the person Stiles had been warning him about. A hunter. He was dating a hunter, for god’s sake. Why Stiles couldn’t have just told him that, he doesn’t know.

 Derek offers a name that he says he might have heard and gives nothing more, doesn’t tell his Alpha of the relationship he had with an older woman from embarrassment. If Kate is smart she would have cleared out of the hotel room anyway, left no trace of herself behind. It shouldn’t matter that he doesn’t tell his parents more.

 “Where’s Stiles?” he asks.

 “He knows you’re fine,” his father replies dryly, coming in from the hallway. “He left with the other Derek about an hour ago.”

 He scowls.

 “You can’t hog him,” Andrew reminds him with a short laugh. “You seem quite taken to him.”

 Derek rolls his eyes. “Right.”

 Peter chooses that moment to stride into the already full kitchen. He sneers at Derek. “I, for one, am glad. Two months are almost over and they’ll be gone and I’ll be happy.”

 Derek glares back at him with all the force someone can manage after being sick all night. His reply comes to the front of his mind, cold and biting, but he’s stopped as his father reminds him that he took out the car without permission last night. Hastily, he closes his mouth while his aunt gives a soft chuckle.

>> 

 It’s late when Stiles fumbles his way into the room that night. He doesn’t bother being quiet, kicking off his shoes and turning on the lamp by Derek’s bed. Stiles sits his butt on the edge of the bed and Derek rubs his eyes, taking in the boy’s sad grin.

 “There you are,” Stiles says, poking the edge of Derek’s arm. “Feeling better?”

 “You’ve been with Derek all day, haven’t you?” he says instead, smelling the older man faintly over Stiles. He rolls his eyes in return.

 “Just this morning. I’m glad you’re okay,” Stiles whispers, looking down at his fingers. “You’re going to be alright, okay? Remember what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

 “What are you talking about?” Derek asks, sitting a little straighter.

 “Two months is over tomorrow.”

 “Huh?”

 “I’ll be gone tomorrow,” Stiles says slowly. “Both me and my Derek.”

 “You found a way home?” his eyes widen, searching Stiles’ face for answers. There’s a sad smile dancing over his face, flicking here and there as Stiles tries to keep his emotions in check. Maybe he doesn’t want to leave.

 He sighs. “I have an idea.”

 Derek stares at the face he soon won’t be able to see anymore.

 “Please remember what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Stiles pleads again, and all Derek can give him is a blank look. Stiles sighs, but his hand finds its way to Derek’s knee and he squeezes for half a second. He gets changed, back to Derek as he slips down to his boxers and Derek rolls over so he doesn’t have to watch.

>> 

 It’s just him and Laura that go to school the next morning; Cora running too late to go with them. The world seems like ice as he fumbles around downstairs, everyone’s movements careful and calculated. He tries not to think too much of it, maybe they’re worried about Stiles and Derek attempting to go back.

 He passes future him in the corridor, and this time there’s no weary look of disgust. The older man simply drags his eyes up Derek’s body and with a sigh, claps him on the shoulder. “You’ll be okay.”

 Derek just nods at him, unsure what to take from that.

 At the door Stiles bombards Derek with a hug, dragging Laura into it. His sister laughs; squeezing Stiles’ side tight and Derek just breathes in his scent, tries to memorise it before he’s going to be so deprived of it. Over their heads, Stiles calls for a group hug and Derek is surprised when there’s no hesitation.

 His mother joins the fold first, pressing her front against his and Laura’s backs. The younger kids give a delighted laugh and join them around their knees, Andrew joining at the tug of Talia’s fingers. Their aunt and uncle smile from the sofas, and by principle Peter stays with them, rolling his eyes though Derek knows he secretly wants to join.

 It’s Stiles who manages to get the older Derek to come forward, lifting his finger from Derek’s shoulder to beckon the man nearer. He only joins for half a minute before the band of their hug breaks, and Laura tugs Derek along to the car.

>> 

 Derek thinks about what life will be like, waiting for his mate to show up again. He’s already dreading how when he gets home, Stiles will be gone, propelled to the present he should be in.

>> 

 He feels the cut from the rest of the pack like he’s suddenly gone hollow, like the force of elastic is springing back at him. Derek’s eyes flash blue as he tries to hold onto something, scrambling out from behind his desk and sending his papers into a flurry.

 Derek’s feet carry him past the line of trees – the scent of Laura already ahead of him – before his features split into that of a wolf, feeling parted from everything, feeling the urge to find his family before the thick scent of smoke enters his nose.

 He howls.

 The flames are deadly and lick up the side of his house, the wood already black and charred and a line of mountain ash stops him from entering the hold himself, it impossibleto find someone, anyone, alive and well. Laura catches him as he screams, vaguely noticing the new red flash of eyes, the edge of his mind picking up Peter crawling from the house, unable to get to him.

 They are gone.

>> 

 They are at the station, a lady placing a mug of cocoa into his palm, folding his fingers around it when he has trouble accepting it. Laura will not leave him for a moment, her hand gripping at his arm or his thigh, claws pricking the edge of his skin as she battles with her new found strength. Derek grips at her too, someone coming in and updating them about Peter. From what he can tell, his uncle doesn’t seem to be healing.

 He doesn’t stop the guilt pounding through him as all words about Kate fall into his head. The ring of mountain ash, the faint smell of accelerant in the air all give it away. The scent of their sex in his mind is a terrible reminder that _he_ did this.

 A boy floods through the room and at first the scent of him makes his body flick into relaxation. Wide eyes are cast down at the floor, his limbs a line of jittery motion as he shoves a blanket at the pair.

 “Stiles?” Derek whispers, his throat horse.

 “Sorry about your family,” he mumbles.

 Derek stares when he leaves and his body starts to shake, the half filled mug falling to the floor. His eyes are stung dry and Laura’s words try to bring him back. “No,” he says. “No. They, they didn’t go back. _They died._ Stiles is dead.” His voice falters. “I’m dead too.”

 Laura’s fingers grip the side of his head, pulling the sharp line of his face around. The hard growl that comes from her is quiet and there’s a glimmer of red haunting her eyes. “No. You’re alive. You, now, are alive. Don’t you dare leave me, Derek, just because you’re going to be gone later.”

 >>

 He checks, and Kate has already left town.

>> 

 They can’t possibly stay in Beacon Hills. It holds too heavy a weight and after a few months he and his sister pack up and move to New York, Laura enrolling him in some public school that Derek pays hardly any attention to. He goes so that the authorities don’t come after them. Laura is already eighteen, old enough to be his legal guardian.

 He can’t dare to risk a sniff of Stiles, the young Stiles, the alive Stiles, or even the Deputy without the pain and the reminder of how there’s someone he’s going to kill too. Laura smiles at those who inquire after them but Derek’s face remains flat as he remembers the dreams of the blonde that killed their family, needing Laura to wake him up from his nightmares.

 >>

 “You’re going on a date with someone?” Derek asks her, a year and a half later. Laura rolls her eyes and turns to look at him, placing her hands on her hips as Derek places his weights down.

 “Jesus, Derek, we’ve been over this. I can do what I want, I can give myself a little distraction if I want to,” her words start off vaguely kind but they end at a snap. Derek glares at her. “I can live a little if I want to. Maybe _you_ should date.”

 He can’t help the snarl that folds out of his system and Laura’s shoulders curve inwards, head raised in a threatening stance for a wolf. “No,” he spits.

 Laura purses her lips, examining the lines of Derek’s slightly older face. She takes a step forward, all the fight leaving her like it always does when they both realise they’re all each other has. She knows about Kate. Wants to figure out who she is.  Laura doesn’t blame Derek for the death of their family and it kills him even more, so he abuses his flesh and muscles instead.

 “Okay,” she says. “You don’t have to date. I get it.”

 Derek looks at the dull wall behind her. “That’s not all of it.”

 Her eyes flicker up in surprise. “It’s not?”

 “Stiles was my mate. I killed him too,” he says thickly, and in an instant Laura crowds into his space, a comforting hand running down his back as she understands. Derek can’t be anything but alone, not because of nature, but because he won’t let himself be with someone. Stiles is waiting after all, waiting to die and he doesn’t want any part of that.

>> 

 “I don’t want you to be alone,” Laura says one day, after the summers had stretched into autumns and the pull of the moon had come and gone so many times.

 Derek glances up from the book laid open on his propped up knees. “I have you.”

 Laura bites her lip, her heart quivering faster. “You weren’t there, Derek. When you – when the older you came the first time he tried to hide it but the way he looked at me, tried to get at my scent without me noticing. I’m going to die too.”

 His whole body stiffens and he hates this. He hates how when they had their visitors they knew exactly what was going to happen. Surely, they could’ve at least tried to do something to prevent it. He could probably pin the day when Stiles realised he was going to perish too, and he hates how they were walking on glass around them, around the people who were essentially ghosts to them.

 “You’re not going to die.”

 “I am,” she kneels in front of him, places a hand on his knee. Derek wants to pull her in tight, but if he did that it would acknowledge the situation, make it more real. “So when I’m gone, you are going to find Stiles, okay? Do you know how lucky you are to have found someone your wolf wants as much as the human part of you could? He’ll make it better, so you find him, promise me.”

 Derek grits his teeth together, feels a metallic taste forming in his mouth. He nods.

>> 

 “You’re not going,” he tells her, trying not to let his teeth elongate or his claws extend. “What if this is when you die, Laura? I’m not letting you go back there.”

 “Our uncle is there,” she points out, sliding the zip along her suitcase. “I’ll visit him too.”

 Derek folds his arms. “I don’t want you to go. We can’t go back there.”

 Laura gives him a grim smile, shoulders shrugging as she says it might be good for them. She looks him square in the eye and tells him not to be an idiot, and pulls Derek into a hug. Laura bites her lip, looking up and down her brother. “You’re looking a lot like the man who came to visit us, little bro.”

 He scowls. “Don’t say that.” Derek doesn’t want to be any closer to a time without Laura. To a time where he’s going to get his mate killed. She just grins at him again, kisses his cheek and heads out the door.

>> 

 Kate turns out to be Kate Argent. Derek’s anger at the hunters and their so called code is the only thing that seems constant anymore.

>> 

 Derek’s feet press against the charcoaled remains of his home, to where every body was burned to a grey dust, to nothing, to where his sister now joins them. Some things are still intact but not many. He finds a necklace curled in on itself, the silver chain something familiar, something that belonged to his mother. Derek slips it in his pocket.

 He finds Stiles again. Gets arrested. The guy is a little shit and comes along with the floppy haired kid that Derek had met when he was sixteen, Scott, who gets bitten. Derek hasn’t spotted the father that was there before.

 This time around, Stiles is a lot more kinetic. He obviously hasn’t grown into himself as much, and his haircut makes him look a lot younger. Derek, this time around, is a lot older and that might have a little to do with it.

 They don’t really get on, which is not surprising from what Derek can remember. When his heart beats it already feels like it’s punching itself and Stiles’ words and hate adds to that, but it also feels good. He deserves a little bit of hostility when the poor kid is going to die because of him one day. Maybe, maybe, the longer Derek growls at him the longer he will survive.

>> 

 He feels Stiles’ fingers linger on his face when he collapses to the floor; wolfsbane laced bullet a puncture in his arm. Derek tries not to think too much about it.

>> 

 He figures out what Peter does and he wishes Stiles had been crueller to him when they had visited. His eyes are red now and Derek doesn’t have much of a clue what he’s doing though he’s glad that blonde haired, psychopathic bitch got her throat clawed out. Bantering with Stiles is easy, though.

>> 

 “You don’t trust me,” he says. Every second that creeps forward is closer to when they get hurtled back to his past. What he means is: _you shouldn’t trust me._ At least, at least he will get to see his family again. Torso dipping to the floor of the pool he knows he won’t die yet, knows that Stiles will save him. He hates himself for wanting to see his family as he tries to build a pack, though all it means is his mate’s death.

>> 

 Somehow, things start to calm down. He spends the summer looking for Erica and Boyd, responsibility dashing through his veins as he tries not to think of all the mistakes he’s made or about the threat of an Alpha pack. He tries not to think of all the things he’s still yet to be responsible for.

 “You’re not coming,” Derek tells him.

 Stiles rolls his eyes and the shove of shoulder to shoulder is the only evidence Derek’s been heard, Stiles easily falling into step beside him. “I know you’re looking for Boyd and Erica and all, and I’m only a pathetic human – by your standards not mine – but it’s summer and Scott’s picked up a lot of shifts with Deaton, okay? I’m bored.”

 Derek raises an eyebrow. “And your solution is to inflict me with the same problem?”

 Stiles narrows his eyes. “You’re lucky to have me. All you werewolves need someone with their head screwed on straight.”

>> 

 Stiles keeps him company dead into the night over the summer. The air is warm, Stiles’ laugh is right, like it belongs in the deep fold of whatever Derek calls his home. Often, he’s the one being laughed at but he doesn’t care enough to get hurt.

 He begins to like it too much, having Stiles around him, offering help and chatter when he tries to track the missing members of his pack. Derek tries to boil down his frustration and anger to a point, a simple pin prick that he can at least deal with.

 It gets bigger, spreads over him when he takes one look at Stiles and remembers himself at sixteen, mourning something he could never have. He forces Stiles to leave that night; growls at him and tells him to get home, to actually spend some time with his father, with Scott.

 The boy seems startled but it quickly transitions into irritation and strong scent of anger.

 “Fine,” Stiles snaps. “I’m not going to give you the help you clearly need if you don’t want it.”

 Derek’s heart beats fast, but it’s sure and it’s as if he’s letting Stiles live a little longer.

>> 

 He thinks Stiles feels a little guilty because two days later he’s at Derek’s doorstep, as early as the rising sun would let him. There’s food in his arms, and it looks like it could be the dinner Stiles cooked for his father the night before. Derek thinks he could shut the door in Stiles’ face again, but his scent has already become overwhelming.

 All Derek does is stand, trying not to let his lip curl too much.

 “Why are you here?” he snaps.

 Stiles shrugs, face squirming like he’d rather not answer that question. So his heart beat can’t give away a lie. It doesn’t do wonders for Derek’s need for deception to be stripped into the open.

 “You think I’m useless.” That he’s a terrible Alpha. It’s the truth, but somehow having it said plainly in front of Stiles makes it worse. “That I can’t even look after my own pack.”

 His mate pauses for a moment.

 “Hey,” whispers Stiles, stepping to the front and sideways, trying to get Derek to look at him. “We’ll find them, okay? I promise.”

 Derek tries to keep his body from becoming a shaking, trembling mess. He wants to give in to touching Stiles, to pulling him near and letting his smile become even more of a comfort. There will never be a number large enough to account for all the mistakes Derek has made, nothing to take back the temptation of an Alpha’s power or the promise of having some control of his life.

 He finally lets his eyes meet Stiles’, trying to ignore the flashes of Erica’s blonde hair or Boyd’s strong manner. Derek tries to glare, tries to send Stiles away with as much as he can without using words. He’s met with a smirk.

 “Come on, I’ve got some papers and shit to show you. I’ve been trying to track them the human way,” he gives Derek a grin and pulls at Derek’s wrist. Stiles drags him forward and away from the abandoned space he calls a home. He can’t wait to see the standing one again.

>> 

  “Your hair is growing longer,” Derek points out, trying to hide the horror in his voice. He feels time creeping upon him, suddenly wonders why he still has red eyes, thinks about when things will lock into place and send them back.

 Stiles notices the negativity in his tone. How can he not?

 “Yes,” he replies. “Very well spotted, Derek.”

 “You should cut it off again.”

 Stiles narrows his eyes. “Contrary to what you must believe, my hair choices don’t revolve around you.”

 Derek huffs. His jaw clenches together every time Stiles runs a hand through the growing strands, more often now that Derek has pointed out his new hair style. It’s another reminder and he doesn’t know what to feel.

>> 

 There’s a lot more going on than Derek’s aware of. It’s enough having no signs of a functional pack, that Isaac is the only one who seems around. And then Stiles. Sometimes Scott too, if his friend manages to drag him along.

 The witch takes them by surprise. Derek smells the brief panic coming off Stiles when they’re underneath the dwindling canopy of the trees and his eyes flash red, teeth bearing and senses sharpening as he makes his way to Stiles’ vicinity.

 Derek’s eyes snap to Stiles before the unfamiliar figure. “This is our territory,” he snarls.

 The purple of the woman’s lips barely move, and Derek’s werewolf ears do not pick up what she says. A strange glow leaves her fingers and before Derek can stop anything Stiles is on the ground, writhing. There’s a loud crack and the witch disappears before Derek can claw her throat out, but he’s at Stiles’ side in an instant.

 Derek pushes against Stiles’ shoulder, rolls him over so that his back is plastered to the dirt. Stiles’ fingers snare around Derek’s wrists, fingernails pressing hard into his skin so that Derek can smell the faint tang of blood.

 “I’m going to die,” wheezes Stiles in a panic. The pain coming off him is enough to drive even Derek mad. “I’m going to die.” His eyes are far too wide as he searches for Derek’s face. “Tell Scotty I love him, tell Dad I love him; don’t let him eat his way to the grave –”

 “You’re not going to die, Stiles,” Derek sighs.

 Stiles glares. “How do you know? You don’t what’s going to happen.”

 “I know the past,” mutters Derek before speaking clearly. “How can you be dying and arguing with me in the same breath?”

 “You’d be surprised,” he hears the irritated mumble from Stiles’ lips and then the boy passes out. Derek scoops him up in his arms and takes him to Deaton. He explains what happened and Derek is informed that the spell was probably a distraction to get away, only causing pain and not much else.

 Scott picks up his friend, nodding to Derek in the hallway. He gives the slightest hint of a nod back, keen to avoid the kid. Through the thin walls Derek’s ears pick up on Stiles’ breathing, his heartbeat. It calms him for a moment before he strikes his feet far away.

>> 

“So,” says Stiles, legs folded on the floor, his laptop and dozens of pieces of paper surrounding him. His hair is a mess; Stiles fingers look like they’ve been running through it all night. “You’re telling me that I spent all night looking this shit up,” he gestures around him, “when you could’ve just told me?”

 Derek folds his arms across his chest, feeling his shirt cling to the muscles. He smirks. “You could’ve asked.”

 Stiles frowns and begins to grumble under his breath. He keeps on glancing up at Derek though, eyes searching and curious. “How much other stuff do you know?” his voice is quieter. In the corner of the room, Scott groans. Stiles glares at him.

 “Would you stop trying to impress each other with your research and your knowledge recall?” asks Scott with a whine. “We’ve have bigger problems like the fact we don’t know what that witch is here for.”

 “Land?” guesses Derek.

 He tries his best to ignore Scott and simply shrugs. Peter is with them too, which is disconcerting because he’s not normally here, and he’s standing far too quietly in the corner. His head is tilted to the side, arms are folded as he catches Derek eye, lips curling into the edge of a smile. The man turns to Stiles.

 “You’re growing up there, Stiles,” he says.

His mate shoots his gaze up. “That’s a real creepy thing to notice when you’re not my grandmother, dude,” he shoots back, beginning to pack up all his things. They’ve still got things to decide, to figure out, but the air has turned sour and Stiles wants to go.

 “We’ll try the protection spells tomorrow,” Stiles says at them, grabbing Scott’s elbow and pulling him out of the room.

 Derek turns to Peter, using all his effort not to snarl. “What are you playing at?”

 Peter dares to take a step forward, eyes widening. “I’m waiting,” he says in a low voice because Scott could still be in hearing distance, “for your eyes to turn blue, for you to leave and then get yourselves killed. Then I can have what I want here while you and the boy drive my younger self insane.”

 “You’re already insane,” sneers Derek, thoroughly regretting any decision he made on his part to tolerate Peter.

>> 

 Derek uses Stiles' bedroom window partly because he knows Stiles doesn’t like it. He knows that the Sheriff isn’t home, that he could easily knock on the front door but Stiles yelping away from his computer in a mess of limbs makes Derek smirk.

 “Jesus Christ,” he glowers, straightening his shirt. “The fact that I should expect that doesn’t make it any less creepy.”

 Derek shrugs and sits himself on the edge of Stiles’ bed. The room is saturated with the boy’s scent, and as always it’s enough to make his wolf whine with longing but Derek holds back.

 “What?” Stiles asks eventually, rolling his eyes at Derek’s silence.

 He hesitates. “Uh, you let me know if Peter gives you any trouble.”

 Stiles’ eyes squint. “Yeah, okay. Do you trust him?” he manages awkwardly.

 Derek stops his eyes sweeping over the floor of Stiles’ room where he sees scattered pieces of dirty laundry. He bites his lip and meets amber eyes, framed with fluttering eyelashes as Stiles tries to think his way out of an awkward situation.

 “I mean, it’s just, I know he’s your only family left, but he uh, hasn’t done very nice things. I don’t think you should trust him let alone put up with him,” Stiles finishes, tips of his sneakers pushing against the floor so that his chair spins side to side.

 Derek’s eyebrows furrow. “I tolerate him,” he says quietly. He moves to stand, aware of Stiles’ lingering gaze. By now he should be scowling but Derek can’t bring himself to. Despite everything, Derek wants Stiles, wants the feeling of home more than ever. But he doesn’t want to be the reason his mate gets killed, and all his efforts to push Stiles away have seamlessly fallen away over the past summer.

 “I’ll be there tomorrow to put the protection spells up. Hopefully Peter won’t want to come.”

 “Isaac’s coming. And Scott. You know, we can handle it while you look for your pack. I don’t want to keep you from finding them,” Stiles says easily.

 Derek looks at the floor. “I just hope I find them before I have to leave.”

 Stiles' eyes widen and a flicker of _something_ falls past his face. “You’re leaving?” he all but yells. Frustration, anger and hurt seep out his skin. “Seriously? I thought maybe, maybe we could sort out the packs here with Scott and everything, but you’re just going to go?”

 Derek is too shocked to do anything but scowl. Stiles’ arms move wildly around him and now the boy is on his feet, grabbing at both Derek’s arms and pressing around to his back. Stiles gives him a shove, hands still plastered to his back as he’s escorted to the front door.

 “Stiles,” he says, exasperated.

 The door shuts in his face. He deliberates going and knocking on the door, but his mouth twists at the unfairness of it all and he stomps away. When he gets home he collapses on his mattress and stares at the ceiling.

 After a while Derek rolls to the side and finds his mother’s necklace. He curls it around his fingers and wishes for her touch again. He imagines her fingers pressed gently against his cheek, telling him he’s beautiful despite his blue eyes, despite the fact he deserves the shade of every blue known to man. At least the red hides that.

>> 

 Unfortunately, Peter does decide to join them, lurking at the edge of the group. Stiles has a bunch of supplies in his arms and the world stops when he and Derek make eye contact. Derek receives a stiff nod before they make their way to the last known location of the witch.

 “Alright,” Stiles says once he’s drawn a pattern of lines with some sort of green paste. Derek has stayed by the central location of the spell while the others have followed Stiles’ directions and placed some of the same paste in a wide radius.

 Stiles begins to speak the words of the spell and Derek sniffs. He can’t recognise the smell of all the plants used, but there is some lavender, and something else that shouldn’t be there. His legs burst from underneath him when he spots the witch’s figure, her face contorted into a dark shape.

 “Stiles!” he calls out in warning, just as the boy looks pleased with himself for finishing the spell. Derek knocks him out of the way of a flash of green light, and his mother’s necklace slips out of his pocket and into the fold of the spell. The witch’s spell trails off into the trees and Derek knows the others are coming, that their senses have picked up on the trouble.

 The air seems to grow hot around them, Derek’s teeth are bared, and his hands still grip around Stiles’ chest. There’s a strange, forced pull in his chest, in his bones and blood and Derek tries to fight it. He throws his head back in a loud roar, unaware of Stiles groaning below his body as they hit the floor.

 Derek feels like he’s losing a piece of himself, and the burn of whatever is happening to him holds strong. He’s faintly aware of Scott, Isaac and Peter coming through the trees and the witch standing there looking scared.

 Faint vibrations begin to build up till it’s the sound of a beating drum and everything around them has gone fuzzy. On instinct, he pulls his mate closer to him through the disorientation. Before everything goes black, he sees Peter and the faint glow of his red eyes.

>> 

 When Derek comes to, Stiles is batting his face with his hands. He’s worrying his lip red and his eyes are wide with more concern than Derek knew they could hold. It’s not enough to sate him though, to calm him down. Derek arches his back and cries out, feeling the absence of power drained from him.

 “Derek?” comes Stiles’ frantic voice.

 He’s baring his teeth, his claws have lengthened and Derek’s trying to dispel the shaky discomfort he feels. He’s faintly aware of his growl echoing through the woods, and Stiles’ hands are on his arms, running up and down, trying to calm him.

“Shit, Derek, you’re scaring me, what is it – fuck,” he hears, Stiles’ arms dropping. He knows then, he knows that his eyes have bled blue, that his Alpha status and power have disappeared. Derek remembers the flash of Peter’s eyes and growls again.

 “Fuck,” he swears, trying to get to his knees.

 “Derek, your eyes – they’ve changed,” Stiles starts but Derek snarls.

 “I’ve noticed,” he grunts back and Stiles shuffles backwards, looking pissed. Stiles waits for him to calm down, for his breaths to stop hurting his rib cage. Eventually, Derek gets to his feet.

 “Where is everyone?” he spits out.

 Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not sure where we are, in the woods? Not where we did the spell in any case.”

 Derek stares at the patch of grass around them, takes a cautious sniff of the air. It’s a little tangy but everything seems to be in order, despite the fact there’s no sign of the ingredients for the spell, or Scott, or Isaac, and no Peter. His mother’s necklace is hidden under the blades of grass, charred and smoking almost. A hard feeling settles in the pit of his stomach, something quite like dread, and he knows that they’ve gone back. They’ve gone back in time.

 His lip quivers but the rest of him is a rigid body. Derek’s teeth press together and he feels Stiles watching him with irritation. His mate, his _mate_ , begins to complain, to ask for something from Derek instead of the stone, painful silence Derek is giving him.

 He turns his head sharply, sees the grave that doesn’t exist because Stiles never gets one. His family won’t know how he goes. Derek sees the death of this wonderful creature hanging in the near future and Derek wants to scream, to snatch him up, to hold him near and never let go.

 “I’m sorry,” he manages, and Stiles stomps forward at that, grabbing Derek’s face and forcing him to look at Stiles properly.

 “What the fuck is going on?” Stiles growls, finally picking up on how Derek feels like a heavy weight.

 “Just follow me,” he mutters, ripping himself from Stiles’ hold. He sniffs the air, and it’s off slightly, electric. A hopeful panic rises through his chest at the thought of seeing them, seeing them all alive, and his feet pick up pace. Stiles is panting behind him, begging him to slow down, and Derek stays just enough ahead that Stiles can still follow him.

 Once the house – the strong, towering, beautiful house – is in sight for the both of them he breaks into a full on run. He hears Stiles swear behind him, stop in his tracks and heart beat jump. He can deal with Stiles later.

 Derek stops by the porch steps and lets out a whine. There’s only one heartbeat in the house and from the way it picks up Derek knows he’s been heard. The smell of his pack, of family, is strong around the entrance and Derek’s body is shaking with the ache of it, with the loss of everything.

 His eyes snap up when the door creeks open. The sun his high in the sky and it falls over the secure planes of his house and on the glint of red eyes emerging from the door. The woman is dressed in jeans and a white blouse, shoulders curved in an offensive stance. Derek’s eyes bleed blue and he whimpers, falling to his knees.

 His mother takes a cautious sniff of the air, brain working quickly. “Derek?” she asks, taking a step forward.

 “I’m so, so sorry,” Derek whispers, voice thin and scraping against his throat. In an instant she registers his distress, his open arms clutching at nothing but the air in front of him until she’s close enough for Derek to grip around her waist. Talia falls to her knees, offering soothing words, hands running through her boy’s hair as he says _sorry, sorry, sorry,_ into her neck, inhaling.

 “It’s okay, Derek, I’m here, I’m here,” she rubs her nose against Derek’s cheek, scenting him, replacing the absence of the rest of her pack over her son’s skin.

 Stiles’ footsteps echo quietly into the ground as he approaches. Derek feels his mother lift her head and take in the boy questioningly. She doesn’t let Derek go.

 “Why is he apologising?”

 “Survivor’s guilt,” Stiles replies at once. “He blames himself.”

 “For?” Talia presses.

 “I think you know,” Stiles mumbles back. Derek turns his head and takes in his mate, standing awkwardly but with sad, sad eyes.

 Talia pulls back and places her cool hands on Derek’s face, wipes away the tears. “Derek,” she whispers. “I need you to pull it together before the rest of the family arrives home; can you do that?”

 Derek nods dumbly and unwinds his arms from his mother. Shakily, he gets to his feet and Stiles comes closer and he feels another warm hand on his shoulder. He follows his mother into the house, relishes in the smell of his family, and runs his hands across every surface so that his scent joins theirs. There is the smell of his younger self present but it’s not enough, it’s far from enough.

 On the seat by the kitchen bench is a thick, black jumper and Derek snatches it up and feels the scratch of the fabric against his skin. He brings it to his nose and inhales, taking in his father’s scent. He hears Talia’s breath catch.

 She turns to Stiles who is staring around the house like he’s never seen it before. “How many of us?” she says sharply.

 Stiles hesitates, glances at Derek. He must figure Derek’s given away too much already and that Talia is the Alpha and suspects anyway. “I don’t know how many of you there are now,” he says slowly, and his mother freezes.

 Slowly, Derek drops the jumper and head dipped, makes his way to the kitchen to stand behind Talia. He runs his nose over the back of her head in comfort and permission. She turns, holds him again in another hug.

 “I’m sorry,” he says again.

 “I know.”

 “I –”

 “Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?” she suggests, offering a weak smile.

 Derek nods and pulls away from her. By the wall, Stiles is rocking on his feet, staring at anything but their two figures. “This is Stiles.”

 He smiles brightly. “Nice to meet you.”

 “Talia Hale,” she replies, eyes scanning over Stiles. Derek’s breath catches, hoping his mate gets approval from his mother, from his Alpha. “Do I know you?”

 Stiles shrugs. “Sheriff Stilinski is my father,” he trails off. “I guess he’s not a Sheriff yet? What’s the date?”

 Talia tells him and Derek can see Stiles’ brain do the math. His eyes flit around before trying to grip onto something, anything, and it ends up being Derek’s face.

 “ _Derek_ ,” he says, sounding something like begging.

 “You look a lot like her,” Talia says quietly and Stiles’ heart is beating wildly and the bitter scent of grief and longing is all over him. “I know you want to see her, but not yet, okay? The rest of the world doesn’t have the supernatural to explain anything.”

 “You get to see her, Stiles,” Derek says in much the same tone as his mother. Stiles looks at him. “I remember. I promise.” His mate sighs and then nods, but Stiles is probably afraid of opening the wound of seeing his mother in her final days of life.

 Talia exhales, the air grim. “Alright,” she says, “you need to explain how you got here and figure out what we’re going to do with you. The rest of the pack is not to know of anything regarding the future. You will need to get yourself under control when they arrive, okay?”

 Her voice is firm and Derek nods.

>> 

 His father and the boys arrive first. It’s much easier to swoop the two younger ones into his arms without it being odd. Derek is vaguely aware of Stiles watching him from one of the couches, a small smile on his face.

 Tyler begs to be put down before Henry does, but he’s grinning like it’s wicked cool to see his older brother all grown up and he laughs. Derek misses that sound. Once he puts Henry down he opens up his arms awkwardly to his father.

 “It’s good to see you still love your old pop,” Andrew says with a smile, pulling his oldest son in and ruffling his hair a little. Derek rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop the corners of his mouth pressing upward. He pulls away. “And who is your friend? I assume he’s from the future too?”

 Derek nods and Stiles bounds up from the seat.

 “I’m Stiles.”

 He hears the slight bickering between his sisters before they come up the porch steps. Their nostrils flare as they smell Derek and they look up suspiciously. “Oh my god,” Cora says, mouth dropping open. “This is so weird.”

 Laura strides forward and pinches Derek’s cheeks. He scowls at her and knocks her hands away, grinning like an idiot and pulling her into a hug. He inhales her scent, and it’s so strange to have the living, breathing Laura; to have the sister who was with him when everything turned sour. Derek squeezes her tight, runs his nose along her hair and finally gestures to Cora to join the fold.

 Cora rolls her eyes and lets Derek’s arm wrap around her waist. “He’s being _affectionate,_ ” she says in a mock whisper and he hears Stiles laugh behind him. Cora whips around and takes one long, assessing look of him. Reluctantly, Derek lets go of his sisters.

 “How the hell did you get caught up in Derek’s shit?” she asks. “You look like you’re twelve.”

 “Language,” comes Andrew’s voice from the living room.

 Stiles glares at her. “I’m older than you are now, thank you very much. And despite my age I’m the only one of us two,” he gestures towards Derek, “that actually decides to use their brain.”

 “Really?” Derek scoffs. “Who was the one trying to pull off that protection spell?”

 “It would’ve gone fine if you hadn’t tackled me to the ground.”

 Cora and Laura exchange looks of amusement, laughing at Derek.

 “It was necessary,” Derek says through gritted teeth, feeling the rise of the sibling dynamic of being ganged up on. He misses it.

>> 

 Peter is next and Stiles pounces. Derek doesn’t do anything to stop Stiles, to show that it’s clearly a bad idea to aggravate Peter no matter where they are in time. He’s too busy coiling in on himself, wondering about all the shit that he’s going to do back home.

 He wonders if Peter will tell the others what really happened. If Stiles’ friends will become privy to his fate.

 Derek’s jaw clenches and his breathing becomes shallow when he thinks of how Stiles, of how his family will die. But there’s a warm palm on his shoulder and with a bright smile Laura is standing next to him, comforting him like she’s always done. Derek fights back a whimper of longing.

 “This should be interesting,” she murmurs, because as far as they’ve seen it, no one has gone up against Peter in years but his sister, and Derek snaps his head to the scene and groans.

 “Look what the cat dragged in!” Stiles chortles. It’s somewhat more offensive because they’re werewolves god damn it. Cats hate them. “It’s Peter Hale the narcissistic douchebag!”

 “Stiles,” Derek growls. Peter’s eyes narrow in surprise and he stares around the room. The rest of the family are just as shocked as he is and make no move to stop Stiles from his stupidity.

 Stiles ignores him. Derek wasn’t expecting much else. “You know, I bet you just came back from looking at yourself in a mirror, or maybe creeping on people. You’re a lot worse than Derek is in that category,” he grins.

 Peter snarls and his eyes flash. “Who the hell are you?”

 “Oh, you know, someone who actually thinks we shouldn’t put up with any of your shit,” Stiles says, casting a meaningful look at Derek, who only now Peter seems to notice. Apparently, he’s had it though, and he storms towards Stiles, teeth and claws out but Derek stands protectively in front of his mate and growls back.

 “Hello Peter,” Derek says. “Just ignore this idiot.”

 “Hey!” Stiles protests, trying to move his way out of Derek’s firm hold. Peter gives the pair a calculating look, and at Talia’s touch takes a reluctant step back.

 Talia sighs. “He’s from the future. They both are.”

 Laura takes Peter by the arm and carefully leads him away from Stiles and Derek. A flash of warning and terror run through him because he can’t bear to trust his sister with that man, he can’t. Stiles seems to know what he’s thinking, an inch of disgust on his face, and he squeezes Derek’s wrist gently.

 “Not exactly sorry,” he says with a shrug. “But sorry?”

 Derek sighs and pushes him away.

 >>

 Derek wants to kick himself for not remembering his younger self arriving. Fuck, he should know, how could he forget being with her. He can’t stand to look at his sixteen year old self. It’s downright painful, and the reality of the effects of his own actions hit him hard.

 At least his silence about his mate is easy to buy.

 He waits for Stiles and their conversation to finish upstairs, mildly wondering when Stiles picked up all of the pieces and figured out it how she had done it. He wants to find her and tear her throat out. He wants every single bone in her body to crush for murdering his family.

 “Hey,” Stiles says awkwardly, out in the cool night air of the porch. “Younger you is pretty cool, I guess. I think he’s going to warm up to me a lot faster than you did. Which doesn’t make sense, since you’re the same person.”

 “Just say what you want to say,” Derek sighs.

 “Fine,” he snaps. “Yes, I know all about your apparent love life here. Well, not everything. But, it still goes to say that you’re beating yourself up more than you should.”

 Derek turns in on him, speaks in a low enough voice that no one should be able to hear them. “Stiles,” he hisses. “They’re here, they’re alive, they’re breathing. How could I not feel responsible for that being taken away?”

 “Derek,” Stiles trails off, looking to the side and eyelashes fluttering down. He can’t believe they’re actually talking about this. “Do you listen to me?” he asks finally. Their shoulders are touching and have been doing so for the last few minutes, pressing closer together with every breath. Derek means for the lack of space to be intimidating, but it’s really acting as a vague sort of comfort.

 “Eventually,” he replies.

>> 

For the first night, they both spend it together in the guest room. The place is uncomfortably devoid of his family’s scents compared to the rest of the house, and so he does his best to get his own everywhere.

 Both his sisters pile into the room and without questioning it, start to prod at things and pretend to look at them. Laura gives him a wide smile and jumps onto his bed, telling him that they’re going to go shopping at some point, Stiles too.

 “Fine,” Derek says. “But I get final say on everything.”

 Cora snorts. “Unlikely.”

 Laura rolls her eyes at him before Stiles barrels into the room with a rolled up mattress. Andrew is helping him with it, offering his older son a quiet smile before he leaves. Derek resists the urge to scent him too, despite how much he wants to.

 Stiles groans and launches himself to the floor when his sister’s leave. He places his hands beneath his head and stares at the ceiling with a twisted look of contemplation on his face.

 “I feel sorry for your Mom,” he says, and Derek’s eyes flick over sharply. “She probably feels like she’s failed to protect her pack.”

 “Stiles, please,” Derek replies in a hoarse voice. Stiles shuts up but murmurs something about how weird it is knowing Derek has brothers, another sister, even though Derek knows it’s likely Stiles dove into the fire’s case files from the station.

>> 

 He avoids his younger self as much as possible and it’s desperately easy to want to do so. He doesn’t miss the way Stiles frowns whenever they attack at each other but he can’t help but loathe his younger self. It’s all too real with him here.

 Derek feels a small, warm pool of content in his heart as he does things for his family. Playing with his brothers, doing chores, helping his mother around the kitchen. Cooking dinner is easy and Stiles seems impressed. His mate is ecstatic when Derek’s father is able to supply him some Adderall.

 Derek tries not to hang out with Laura and let it show that he owes her everything. He would not have been able to make it through the years without her, and he can’t help but feel like he’s at _home_ every time she teases him.  It’s addicting having a pack again; having a family he can implicitly trust.

 Stiles looks at him one day, eyes bright and lip bitten.

 “What?” Derek asks him, irritated. He hasn’t been able to spend quite as much time with Stiles as he would have liked, and another pebble of guilt rests inside him.

 He turns his head to the side. “Who knew that this Derek Hale existed? Someone who’s actually _nice,_ ” Stiles says comically, waving his arms around.

 “I can be nice,” Derek protests.

 Stiles raises an eyebrow but he seems to chuckle when he goes off with the rest of them to do research. Derek looks down and sighs, wondering if he should say something to Stiles to stop him wasting his time around here grappling for something he won’t find.

 He’s not doing anything to help Stiles find some spells and he would feel bad for it but he can’t. At least Stiles gets to spend time with his younger self; he remembers how fascinated Stiles had been to him, if only to be ripped away with the rest of his family.

 He doesn’t think that the sixteen year old Derek deserves to spend so much time with Stiles. Derek still can’t look him in the eye; can only growl and say unhelpful things.

>> 

 Stiles looks like a wreck. His skin is all blotchy and he’s forcing back tears. Derek is grateful that the boy didn’t even think twice about getting in the car with him. It’s all a bit hazy, the memories he has when sixteen. He doesn’t want to ruin everything more than he has.

 “I wish I saw her earlier,” Stiles mumbles. “Not like this.”

 “You could’ve asked me to take you,” Derek tells him. He instantly wants to take the statement back, worried that it’s the wrong thing to say.

 “I did ask you, the younger you.”

 “You know what I mean,” Derek says, trying not to sigh or stiffen at the mention of his younger self. Stiles looks so small in the passenger seat, unwilling to face the world with his usual mess of limbs. Derek wants to curl himself around him, to hold him tight.

 “Oh,” Stiles says in a soft voice. “Okay, that’s uh, nice to know. That you would do that for me when you actually know me.”

 “Why would you think I wouldn’t?” Derek replies in a frown.

 Stiles shrugs and doesn’t answer the question. They pull up in front of a twenty four hour diner and with wordless surprise, Stiles follows him to a booth. They order and Stiles gets some curly fries, eyes widening with shock.

 “These are so much better than the future ones!” he says, stuffing his face to Derek’s amusement. “This is so gonna suck when we get back,” he groans. “Where did this diner even go?”

 “It closes down in a couple of years,” Derek responds, trying to ignore the statement of _going back_. “I’d come here a lot with my family. In the first months after the fire I would come here by myself sometimes.”

 Stiles looks up, lips clasping around his food to swallow. “It fucking sucks how you know how I’m feeling.”

>> 

Stiles accompanies him to the grocery store one evening and they’re in the middle of choosing broccoli over cabbages when Stiles turns and prods him in the chest.

 “Come on, Derek, you could help me a little,” he says. “I know it’s nice seeing your family and all, but I want to get home. To see _my_ family. Granted, I’ve been able to see them the last ten years or so, but I want to go back!”

 Derek shrugs and returns to checking food prices. “I’m busy.”

 Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, busy. You’re trying to right a wrong, aren’t you? You’re trying to be the best family member you could possibly be to make up for the fact they’re going to be dead.”

 “Maybe,” Derek replies, because as always, Stiles is spot on.

 “For goodness’ sake!” he explodes, clearly frustrated. “The wrong isn’t yours. You shouldn’t blame yourself! You’re not crazy for wanting to be with her or for believing her. _She_ was the crazy one; you don’t have to right anything except the spell that sent us here in the first place because I’m still maintaining that it’s not my fault.”

 “It’s nice,” he says quietly, placing several heads of broccoli over the wires of the shopping trolley. “Being with them.”

 Stiles sighs. “I know. I know. I don’t want to take that away from you, but I want to get home and I’d appreciate some help.”

 Derek licks his lips and stares at the ground. Avoiding Stiles’ amber eyes is difficult, but Derek doesn’t want Stiles to see the overwhelming sadness in his own eyes, let alone the pointlessness of reading over books.

 “What?” Stiles asks.

 “Nothing. Fine, I’ll help you.”

 Stiles narrows his eyes. His lips twist in suspicion before he says _fine_ back and stomps off with the contents of the trolley. Derek tries not to groan when the boy places his foot on the metal bar by the wheels and skids forward only to be told off by one of the supermarket employees.

>> 

Derek takes one look at his sister. “No.”

 She pouts. “Come on, I just want to know the little secret you’re sharing with each other!”

 Derek lies his palms flat on the table. He’s still got Stiles mad at him, after that monster of a conversation the night before that he really should have been expecting. Somehow, it’s worse from this end and Stiles still hasn’t spoken to him.

 He’s surprised Stiles cares. And he must, he must care because why else would he say those things? Derek sighs and Laura is staring at him expectantly.

 “Is it a werewolf thing or a teenage boy thing?” she asks, cherry red lips so full of life and mischief that Derek can’t help but answer the question.

 “Both,” he says through gritted teeth, but it’s worth it when she beams.

 “Do I ever find out?”

 “I tell you,” he says, remembering the days of New York. “You find out. Don’t tell Cora,” he adds just for the pretence. Laura doesn’t make any promises and opens her mouth to say so when Stiles comes fumbling down the stairs in a tired state.

 His hair is a mess and Derek scrambles around the kitchen to hand him a cup of coffee. Stiles stares at him for a moment, still in a ratty t shirt and boxers, before taking the mug. The line of the boy’s frown slowly starts to fade, but he sends Derek far too many glances as he sips his coffee. Laura smirks slightly and silently leaves them be.

 “Sleep well?” Derek asks pathetically, taking the sight of Stiles in. It’s something he could get used to, especially now, just woken up with his hair sticking up in all sorts of directions and his long fingers wrapped around the coffee mug. His pale skin looks dewy under his moles, under the slight dash of sunlight from the kitchen window.

 Stiles shrugs in response and Derek’s heart is aching. He wants a lot more than he can have.

 “I’ll go with you to research? If you want.”

 He raises his eyebrows. “You actually going to?”

 Derek gives an insistent nod. “Yeah, whatever you want.”

 “I want to go home,” Stiles says quietly, has said so many times that Derek can’t help but close his eyes briefly. When he opens them again, Stiles is staring at him, eyes locked on his face like he’s trying to trace the lines of his feelings, and he doesn’t seem so sleepy anymore.

 “I know,” Derek whispers back, focusing on the warm spread of brown in Stiles’ eyes.

 “You’re not bad company, it’s just, you know,” Stiles admits in a murmur and Derek chuckles.

 Something almost – fond perhaps, grows in Stiles’ eyes and his lips are tilting upwards before he suddenly rips his gaze away and downs the rest of his coffee. His heart beat has come alive and Stiles is on his feet, now at the bottom of the stairs.

 “Let me, uh, get dressed, then we can go, good? Good.” Then he bolts the rest of his way to the bedroom he shares with the younger Derek. He’s glad Stiles is changing clothes because he’s pretty sure the ratty shirt he’s been sleeping in belongs to the younger Derek, and his wolf doesn’t like it. He wants Stiles to wear his things.

 Derek is still in a bit of a daze by the time Stiles returns.

>> 

 Stiles seems to have a system once they’re at Deaton’s. The cats hiss when he gets too near and the stench of piss and wet dog are hard to get rid of. Derek tries to hold his breath but that means going without Stiles’ scent and he doesn’t quite like that.

 “You start with these books,” Stiles says, dropping them in front of Derek with a loud clang. “The site that I got the protection spell from doesn’t actually exist yet but we may find something similar in one of the books. I narrowed it down to things that mention protection and time travel, and Deaton has not exactly been helpful, so,” he shrugs and leans across the table to get to work. Behind him, Derek can see the number of books Stiles has rejected. The boy sighs. “I haven’t had much time to do anything else.”

 They sit in comfortable silence and Derek tries to at least do a thorough job. Stiles hums while he concentrates and Derek can’t quite help looking up at him every so often to watch the stretch of his lips around some random pen.

 Stiles glances up. “What?”

 Derek shrugs, taking his eyes off him.

 “You’re lucky I’m not singing,” Stiles says somewhat cheerily, “that’s a lot worse to hear.”

 Derek rolls his eyes. “I can imagine. Do your research.”

 Stiles scowls at him and it’s not a minute later when he almost jumps off the chair. Derek looks up abruptly at Stiles who is biting his lip like he’s afraid he’s excited over nothing. His eyes scan the words on the page and with a triumphant smile he slams the book in front of Derek.

 “This is for time travel and it has almost the exact same conditions as the protective spell I tried to cast!” He drops his finger down to tap madly against the text and Derek swipes his hand away and tries to read. Derek’s surprised they have even found anything, but the flicker of hope shuts down almost immediately.

 “Read here,” he says quietly.

 “What?” Stiles asks. He comes around the table to lean over Derek’s shoulder, hand pressed against his back. Derek waits. “Shit, so, so, we need a token of the other time? What did we use last time?”

 “My mother’s necklace,” Derek says. “That’s probably what brought us here.”

 “Alright, so we need something from the future,” Stiles says, determined. “Any ideas?”

 Derek turns and Stiles’ face is right there. Their eyes catch and he must have given something away because suddenly Stiles jolts away. “You don’t think there’s anything, do you? We didn’t bring anything important enough with us.”

 “Stiles –”

 The boy’s nostrils flare. “Then how do you know we only stay two months?” he demands.

 “Stiles,” Derek repeats, trying to get to his feet. His mate’s face is a hard set of features and his brain is working quickly. A flood of anger and panic reign over the room and Stiles’ body is tight, rigid, and vibrating with the realisation that Derek tried to keep from him.

 “Fuck you,” he spits, “fuck you, Derek! You don’t think we can go back! Because you know we die! We die with everyone else. Fuck, Derek, you knew, you knew when you met me, you knew. You tried to stay away. Fuck you. I’ll never see my family again. I’m going to the station, I’m seeing my father, I know I said I’d avoid him and younger me but I can’t, I can’t. And Scott,” he says shakily. “I have to see baby Scott. Shit, you should have told me! Why not??”

 And now he’s in Derek’s space, striding forward to jab him in the chest and Derek lets him. He doesn’t deny anything Stiles has said and his silence confirms Stiles’ accusations.

 “That’s why you wouldn’t help me!” he roars, and he can hear the dogs begin to bark in the next room. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

 “For the same reason we haven’t told the rest of the family,” Derek says quietly, feeling awfully resigned, wanting to be the punching bag Stiles seems to sorely need. His mate lets out a strangled yell of frustration, throwing curses at Derek before stomping out of the room. Derek’s hands clench together and he’s not expecting it when Stiles flings himself back into the room.

 “You know what?” he yells. “I bet you think it’s fitting that you die with your family, but it’s creepy and disgusting and twisted instead!”

 “I don’t think that.”

 “Whatever! But I don’t want to die Derek, maybe you do since you seem to want it so much but maybe I get the hell out of dodge and that’s why the younger you doesn’t see me again! Since there’s no way in hell I went home!”

 “Accepting and wanting are different things,” Derek snaps back at him because everything terrible has been swelling in his veins and he’s just as upset about this as Stiles is. “You wouldn’t,” he says tightly. “You wouldn’t leave me after something like that.”

 Stiles’ mouth drops open with his lack of words. “I,” he tries, but nothing of substance comes out. He swallows and tries again. “You’d have Laura. You wouldn’t need me.”

 “You would stay,” Derek repeats, looking down. He knows he and Stiles aren’t as close as he’d like them to be but he swears he feels that much is true. But he still doesn’t want to see the reaction on Stiles’ face confirm or deny his thoughts. Derek turns abruptly on his heel and forces the air out of the room when he leaves, passing Stiles’ still angry figure by the door.

 And now he’s fucked up everything.

>> 

 Derek leaves Stiles the car and takes off running over the concrete ground and then into the woods. In his head he sees his mother wilting at the edges, keeping everyone close the longer that they stayed. Derek still hasn’t told her when and doesn’t think he should.

 When he gets to the house Stiles is already gone and Peter gives him a dirty look.

 “Where’s that boy of yours?” he says nastily.

 Derek growls at him.

 “You know,” Peter muses. “That kid’s got balls.”

 “Stay away from him,” he spits and Peter raises an eyebrow.

 He walks away from his uncle unable to deal with him right now and collapses onto his bed completely spent of energy. He hasn’t quite done something like this since the early days of New York. Normally, he’d be working out right about now to dispel how useless he feels.

 His younger self too is absent from the house and Derek hates how Stiles can still spend time with that person but can’t look Derek in the eye. He hates how _that_ Derek can be more liked when Stiles barely knows him.

 The closer the fire comes the more he wants to wring his younger self’s neck. He knows he doesn’t go through with it, but it can’t be a secret how much he wants to. That kid is so, so close to everything with Kate and despite Stiles’ warnings the boy hasn’t gotten it. How much he wants to snap at the sixteen year old is at the same level of Derek wanting to exercise until the pain burns through his muscles, till it’s more than just the good kind of hurt.

 Derek is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear when young little Henry pushes the door open until he begins to climb onto the bed. He sits up properly and the younger boy launches himself into his lap.

 “I can hear your heart,” he says with a sad smile, and places his small palm on Derek’s chest before pressing his ear there and snuggling close. “Where’s Stiles? I like him.”

 “He’ll be around,” Derek replies, hearing the sounds of his family downstairs. He hears the clang of pots and pans and they must know he’s brooding because someone else is starting to prepare dinner. The sound of his younger brother’s heartbeat seems to calm him and soon Tyler stops by the door.

 “You okay?” he says awkwardly.

 Henry glares at him. “I don’t need your help to do the babysitting.”

 Derek sighs.

 Tyler grins. “Derek’s always liked me better than you; maybe I should cuddle up to him instead.”

 He turns to Henry. “Don’t listen to your brother.” To Tyler he says, “If you’re not careful I’ll take you up on your cuddling offer.”

 Tyler mock shudders before he’s racing away, and Henry rolls his eyes. He takes Derek’s face in his small little palms, the hands that don’t get to grow any bigger. His body is still skinny, the werewolf genes not quite kicking in until he’s older.

 “Can I see your blue eyes?” he asks a little nervously. “Derek never wants to show me.”

 Derek can remember those arguments, not wanting to show the shame of having his eyes blue. For some reason, he wants to humour his little brother, wants the acceptance a small kid can bring over the shit that he’s done or is going to do.

 He lets his eyes go blue and Henry’s mouth makes a small circle. “Blue is pretty,” he says. “Tyler says I won’t grow up good looking.”

 “Laura used to tell me that.”

 Henry considers it and then brightens, dropping his hands.

 Andrew comes into the room then, poking his head in the door. “Uh, Derek, turns out we don’t have much in the cupboards for way of food, and I don’t know if you remember but we’re picking up our family from the airport tonight.” He pauses. “Everything okay? You and Stiles aren’t here.”

 Derek shrugs and gently pushes Henry off his lap.

 His heart wrenches at the idea of his extended family arriving. Derek wants to send them back but he can’t help what’s already happened. He’s vaguely aware that it’s the night he breaks things off with Kate, the night when she slips him some wolfsbane.

 Derek doesn’t care though. He turns out okay, and so he decides to go with everyone to the airport. On the way out of the room, Henry already ahead of him, his father places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

 “I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, Derek, but you do know everyone loves having you here, right? Don’t feel like we want you gone just because two months is basically up. Even Peter appreciates you here,” he says.

 Derek snorts. “All we’ve done is insult him.”

 “I’m not going to ask what he does, Derek, or if he deserves Stiles’ treatment.” Andrew shrugs. “But I do like the boy,” his lip quirks up knowingly, “just so you know.”

 Derek groans, the tips of his ears going red. “Stiles doesn’t like me so much right now.”

 “It’ll be okay,” his father says, hand still on his shoulder. Derek looks up and wonders how much Talia has told him because there’s a shiver of sadness in his eyes. Andrew’s look seems so understanding, and for once, Derek is scared, he’s scared of death.

 His father must be able to smell the fear and he pulls his grown son into a tight hug. It’s strong and firm and it’s everything he has missed and is going to miss. They stand like that until Cora yells at them to hurry up from downstairs, and his father’s reassuring palm stays there as they walk down to the hallway and make their way to the car.

 Their aunts and uncles are expecting him there and he’s somewhat of an amusement for the little ones. He helps carry their bags and stuffs them into one of the cars with the help of Tyler, who had spent a good fifteen minutes racing around the airport before being brought by the ear to his parents by the hand of the security officer, a grin on his face.

 Before they start the car is when Talia receives the phone call. The whole car’s ears, even his human cousins, hear the panic Stiles gives them. Derek looks at his shoes.

 “We’ll be right there,” Talia says, snapping the phone shut and then staring Derek down.

 “Really, Derek? You’re going to let yourself almost die while your friend is freaking out?”

 Derek glares. “Well obviously he’s going to be fine,” he hisses. “It’s just a little bit of wolfsbane.”

 “And are you sure you don’t want to tell me how that happened?” she snaps, eyes glowing red.

 Derek’s eyes shift to the side and stare out into the blackness the window provides. His aunt gives him a sympathetic but worried look.

 “Hunters?” she asks timidly, and at that Talia gives him another sharp look. It’s so loaded and clear what she’s asking, with just a hint of red in her eyes, and Derek gives her a small nod. It’s alarming fast how things seem to click for her and her face pales.

 “Let’s just get to you,” she says in a quiet voice. The tension is clear in the rest of the car, the human children trying to clutch at their mother. The others are in the bigger, larger car; his sisters, his brothers, his father and other uncle. He’s not sure where Peter is.

 Derek waits downstairs while the mess of people around them try to cater to his pale, dead faced self. He tries not to roll his eyes at it all, since he’s _fine_ , but nobody seems to register that. His younger self really should’ve seen it coming.

 The other car made it here first and his sisters are already helping get Derek into a bed, ready to flush the wolfsbane out. Derek is fairly certain that it wasn’t a rare form of the plant at all, and he thinks about how it was stupid for Kate to give herself that much away before her larger crime.

 His sisters come up and scent him, scent the healthy version of their brother and they seem to relax.

 “You’re an idiot,” Cora tells him, before rubbing her nose affectionately at his cheek.

 Stiles finally brings himself downstairs and when their eyes meet Derek straightens and Stiles visibly flushes. Derek rolls his eyes.

 “I’m fine,” he tells his mate.

 “Yeah,” says Stiles in a weak voice, inching forward a little. He looks distracted. “Um,” he says in a low voice. “I wouldn’t have pushed you going there if I knew that was going to happen to you.”

 Derek shrugs because it’s not Stiles’ fault, and he’s actually talking to him. Except, after that, Stiles is staring at him, looking horrified, and it’s making Derek squirm. “What?” he snaps.

 Stiles flings his gaze away. “Nothing.”

 Derek eyes him suspiciously because Stiles’ pulse is fluttering and dropping, and his face keeps on going red. Neither of them say anything else, though, until Talia comes over to Derek and says they’ve still got to buy some food since they got side tracked about finishing the dinner.

 He nods at her. “I’ll go.”

 “I’ll come too,” Stiles says abruptly, eyes on Derek again, like he’s searching for something. Derek would glare but the last time they were in the same room Stiles had been yelling at him. They make their way outside, Stiles oddly quiet and fingers jittery.

Talia follows them into the cool air and lays a hand on Derek’s arm. Stiles looks between the two of them, clearly conflicted, but at his mother’s polite smile, Stiles drops into the car and the whole of its rigid body shakes when the door shuts.

 Derek’s lips press together and immediately he turns towards his mother.

 “Please don’t ask me where I was tonight.”

She takes his face in her hands.

 “I am wondering, Derek,” she says, her warm brown eyes staring into his. “But I also know that it’s been two months now, Derek, and that now there are hunters in town. It kept me going, knowing at least you were going to survive, but ...” her voice trails off and everything is uttered so quietly that it’s impossible for anyone in the house to hear them. “It’s Stiles too, isn’t it? With the rest of us.”

 Derek nods miserably and tries not to look at the pale face underneath the dark glare of the windscreen, waiting for him, angry at him because they’re both going to perish. Talia takes his hands and gives them a small squeeze, urging him back into the car.

 He slips in and Stiles’ eyes snap over instantly. Derek tries to ignore him and soon the purr of the engine envelops the silence. Stiles’ heartbeat is a mess; eyes narrowed and breaths shallow. Derek tries not to squirm, wondering why Stiles even wanted to come with him if all he’s going to get is concentrated stares of fury.

 He squeezes the circle of the wheel tight, shadows passing over Stiles’ eyes the further they travel along the road. Derek’s skin feels hot and his gut feels as though it might drop from underneath him. And then he can’t take it, he can’t take having his mate sit in absolute silence when for fuck’s sake, _they’re going to die._

“Don’t be mad at me,” Derek pleads, bringing the car to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road. Stiles glares at him as his hands lurch out to brace himself.

 “Honestly, are you crazy?” he yells, looking back over his shoulder to see if there are any cars about. There aren’t; Derek’s driving is not that dangerous.

 “I know I should’ve told you,” continues Derek, slowly starting the car and edging it to the side of the road. “But I didn’t for the same reasons we haven’t told my family they’re going to die, and I can’t bear you being angry with me now, not when we’re both going to be gone.”

 “Because you actually give a shit about me?” Stiles asks and Derek fights back a groan, sinking into his seat in embarrassment. God, if Stiles doesn’t get that now he’s never going to.

 “Yes,” he grits out, like it pains him. Stiles glowers.

 There’s a beat of silence and the next words that tumble out of Stiles’ mouth are not what he expects.

 “You tried to maul me,” he mumbles and Derek stills, cheeks going hot because he’s not sure what that means. Stiles twists his body, gauging Derek’s reaction but all he lets show is a blank cover of emotion.

 “What?” Derek says faintly.

 “You don’t remember.”

 He hears the click of Stiles’ seatbelt and the boy is climbing from his seat and clambering to the road. The air is hot and stuffy inside the car and Derek has to pause before he can follow Stiles out. Stiles’ heart beat is in the midst of a thudding rhythm and it’s all Derek can focus on, that and the steady flow of blood to his cheeks and neck.

 “What are you talking about?” Derek demands.

 Stiles glares at him, mouth dropping open and hands rubbing his face to muffle out a flustered string of words. He tries to stare Stiles into revealing whatever’s he’s hiding but all it does is make Stiles flush harder.

 Derek moves around the edge of his family’s car so he’s no longer standing on the road. Stiles stands a little straighter, expression defiant, and Derek stops a stride away from his mate. “Stiles,” he says through his teeth.

 “Before you collapsed, with the wolfsbane,” Stiles says nervously, “you said, you said I was your mate. Then you tried to maul me.”

 Derek knows what he’s going to say before Stiles has finished his sentence. Everything shuts down in an instant and his brain can’t compute it, can’t understand the look Stiles is giving him right now.

 “Derek?”

 “It, it just means that my wolf wants you. It’s an instinct,” he says eventually, not wanting to scare Stiles with words like _mate._ His gaze is focused just past Stiles ear and into the blackness of the night, unwilling to make eye contact.

 “Oh,” says Stiles in a small voice. “Oh, I thought. Right. So the human part doesn’t want me? Is that what you’re saying?”

 Derek hesitates, and like the slide of two magnets, their gazes collide. His mate looks so vulnerable, open, disappointed, and everything other than Stiles’ face has immediately turned to a blur. It feels like a dream and Derek is terrified, terrified of giving anyone his heart.

 Stiles has turned pale once more, breathing shaky. His lips are parted slightly and almost unwillingly, Derek drops his gaze to his mate’s lips.

Stiles sees it, and something inside the both of them tightens.

 “You should have told me,” Stiles tells him and Derek snaps out of it.

“Why would you expect me to tell you? We’re not even friends!”

 “Did this summer mean anything to you?” Stiles yells. “Maybe I don’t hate you anymore and maybe I don’t want to be friends because I want to date you!”

 Derek’s nostrils flare, a burning need to push everything away so he can’t turn it to dust. “What could you possibly see in me?” he snaps back.

 “Enough! Okay, enough, you idiot,” the last word curls around Stiles’ mouth and somehow they’re panting at the open air, the few minutes enough to get everything riled up. Stiles doesn’t elaborate, only glares before deflating somewhat. “Well,” he says, “at least one date would be nice. Since we’re going to die soon and all.”

 His voice his bitter and there’s a beat of sad, clear, silence before the weight of his words come washing over them. They stare at each other and Stiles’ hands twitch like he wants to bring them forward but in the end he decides against it, dropping them down like dead weights. He averts his gaze.

 “You,” Derek asks in a hoarse voice. “You want me?”

 “Yeah,” he says.

 Amazingly, it’s enough to settle him. Derek begins to blush all over and Stiles rolls his eyes, doesn’t wait to see the pink spread, and falls into Derek with palms either side of his face. Their mouths fit together so easily, so warm and perfect, and Derek can’t possibly think as he hooks his fingers tentatively in the loops of Stiles’ jeans.

 Stiles breaks away, his hands falling to scrape against Derek’s chest. Derek tries to chase his lips before their faces part properly, and it’s only when the seconds begin again that he feels so naked and vulnerable. Stiles’ eyes seem to mirror his expression.

 Then, then, the weight of death sits on them, Stiles’ fingers gripping tighter into Derek’s clothing so that Derek can feel the hard press against his skin. They’re both going to be gone, and soon, and their thoughts seem aligned because a desperate sound comes from Stiles before they’re all over each other; Derek crowding him into the side of the car, tasting each other, getting as close to each other as humanly possible.

 Stiles’ fingers lace through the hair above his neck as they almost pant into each other’s mouths. It’s comforting, and Derek feels greedy having Stiles’ body flushed against his own. Stiles tilts his head to the side, exposing the beautiful stretch of his neck and Derek can smell his younger self there, can see the red marks he left.

 He runs his nose along and gently presses his lips to Stiles’ skin. Derek feels Stiles sigh into him, clutching him a little tighter as Derek coats his own scent over the smooth surface. It mixes with his mate’s and the smell is heavenly. When Derek pulls back Stiles gives a small bright smile.

 “I thought I could save you,” Derek whispers. “I thought if I left you alone you might live a little longer.”

 Stiles grimaces. “Derek, it’s okay, you were a dick, so was I, but I’m still here. Can, can we just think about you and me and go get the groceries? Then we can have a date tomorrow morning and then you can spend the rest of the afternoon with your family. Can we do that?”

 Derek nods and steps away. Stiles shivers.

 “Are you cold?” Derek asks, already shrugging off his jacket. Stiles stares at him, eyebrow slowly raising as Derek thrusts the leather towards him.

“This is a werewolf scenting thing, isn’t it?” Stiles asks.

 “Maybe,” Derek mutters, turning back around the edge of the car. He misses Stiles’ pleased expression and is vaguely surprised when Stiles settles back into the cur and tugs the jacket snug around his body. Derek takes a moment to inhale because Stiles is starting to smell more and more like he should.

 The grocery trip takes a lot longer than planned even though his family are waiting for an easy meal, Stiles brushing up to him at every chance he possibly can. He asks Derek to choose between cereals and he piles too many things into the trolley even though there’s no point in it at all. When Derek complains Stiles just grumbles, saying that he wants to try out _being domestic_ at least once in his lifetime.

 Derek raises his eyebrows but he can’t stop the spread of warmth over his chest.

 When they arrive back at the house, he feels his parent’s gazes drop down to the leather jacket that’s slightly too big for Stiles. The house is warm, too warm for that much clothing but Stiles keeps it on, the sleeves past his wrists.

 Derek cooks up some food and Stiles sits by the bench, smiling widely whenever he catches Derek’s eye. He finds his own mouth tilted up, and despite the vague panic earlier, Derek and Stiles’ collective ease seems to melt through the room and people relax.

 They’re the last ones to go to sleep, putting away half of the groceries alone in the dim lighting of the kitchen. It’s almost too much, the way their fingers trace along each other while passing the goods from hand to hand.

 “Can we stop?” Stiles grumbles and Derek gives a swift nod, crowding into Stiles’ back and standing far too close behind him while they go up the stairs. Stiles doesn’t seem to mind, though, leaning back into the spread of Derek’s hand as they move along.

 They pass the bedroom door of the sixteen year old Derek, and Derek can hear the steady rise and fall of his breaths. Laura is in there too, probably sleeping at the edge of the bed to make sure her younger brother is safe. He had never realised she had done that.

 He supposes he has to thank the menace his younger self has been; forgetting his mind and pushing Stiles towards him. Now he gets to see the bright way Stiles looks at him without Stiles trying to hide it.

 When they’re in the spare bedroom, Stiles looks around for a moment and waits for the click of the door. He turns around and cups Derek’s face again, mouths colliding in a sigh as Derek’s being pressed back into the wooden door frame.

 “Hey,” Stiles whispers against his lips.

 Derek kisses him again, gently pushing Stiles towards the bed. He feels the burning thrum of his skin against his mate’s, so alive, and it’s Stiles, and god, Derek didn’t think he could feel this good again, having Stiles accept him like this.

 There’s the danger of rushing everything with how little time they have left, and Derek wants to do everything he possibly can with Stiles. He wants to touch him, love him, hold his hand, cradle him as he sleeps. Stiles’ head is back against the pillows and he tilts it back for Derek to work at his neck, Stiles shivering underneath him and hands snaking up clothing.

 “Stiles, I,” Derek says, kissing along Stiles’ jaw and to his lips once more. Stiles opens a pair of shining eyes.

 “We’re going too fast, aren’t we?” he mumbles.

 Derek nods. He doesn’t want to be like Kate.

 Stiles shuffles underneath him, sitting up a little. “Can, can I stay?”

 “Yeah,” Derek breathes, turning Stiles over and curling his body around him. Derek runs his hand down one of Stiles’ bent arms, finger pads brushing against the bone at Stiles’ wrist before their fingers slide together. Stiles presses a kiss to his hand and Derek can hear his breathing slowing, almost asleep.

 He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep this close from the fire.

>> 

 Derek wakes up with his nose in Stiles’ neck. It’s strange, having him near, but he likes it. He feels Stiles stretch beside him and there’s a grumbled good morning from next to him at being woken. Derek would like to stay in bed all day, wrapped around this body, but he knows it’s the last full day they have left.

 He prods Stiles gently in the side, urging him to get up but his hands are swiped away.

 “Stiles?”

 “What?” is the drawn out muffle.

 “Where do you want to go for our date?” Derek asks in a whisper, trying to fight back the feeling that Stiles might not want it anymore. Stiles freezes for a moment before he rolls over and gives Derek a scrunched up expression, like he’s trying his best to see what’s in front of him. Then, he launches himself over Derek’s chest and starts to bury his face in Derek’s shoulder.

 Derek catches him with his arms, surprised. He lets himself run a wide hand over Stiles’ back, underneath the leather jacket his mate is still wearing.

 “Will you take me out to breakfast?” Stiles mumbles.

 “Yeah,” Derek says. “Anything.”

 No one else is up when they leave the house and Derek leaves a quickly scrawled note to let his family know they’re going out for breakfast. They both have showered, changed clothes, and Derek misses the smell of Stiles’ scent interlocked with his own.

 His mate’s smile is bright when he catches Derek’s eye in the car, but his words are few and his pulse is thrumming nervously.

 “Just relax,” Derek says in a soft growl.

 Stiles glares at him. “I haven’t been on a proper date before.”

 “Dates are awkward,” Derek says. “You haven’t been missing out on much.”

 “As long as you’re paying,” Stiles tells him.

 He tries to hide his smile even though it’s impossible for Stiles to pay since his bank account is in the future. They settle for a small diner that he remembers the kids from his high school used to go to for dates all the time.

 As they wait for the food – pancakes and French toast – Stiles taps his toes nervously against the tiled floor, eyes roaming around the diner before flitting away from Derek’s face whenever they happen to make eye contact. Derek sighs.

 “You’re not regretting anything, are you?” he asks awkwardly.

 Stiles’ eyes widen. “Hell no. You’re not are you?”

 “No,” Derek says quickly.

 “Good.”

 Derek nods and swallows, then thankfully the food arrives. He doesn’t know how to do this, he doesn’t know how to be with someone. Stiles is so important and he doesn’t want to fuck things up more than they already are.

 “You know,” says Stiles through a mouthful of food. “I have come to terms with the fact that I’m going to die a virgin.”

 Derek almost chokes on a sip of his coffee and he feels his cheeks going pink underneath his beard. Stiles grins opposite him, taking in Derek’s look with satisfaction. “Um,” he says.

 “Yep,” Stiles says thoughtfully. “To be honest, I’d thought I’d have a bigger problem with it.”

 “This is hardly typical first date conversation material.”

 “Since when have we been typical?” Stiles snorts. “You run around doing stupid things while you try and save people, and I lift your werewolf ass in eight feet of water for two hours. How’s your food?”

 “Had better,” Derek replies, and at that Stiles reaches forward and stabs his own fork into a square of bread, pulling it back to stuff into his mouth. Derek raises an eyebrow but the action sends a happy thrill through his spine because it’s what he remembers his parents doing.

 “Yeah, I agree. Did I tell you about that one time when Dad and I ordered French toast on his day off and the guy who served us was someone running away from a hefty amount of parking tickets? God, that shit was funny.”

 Derek shakes his head.

 Stiles brightens. “Well obviously Dad recognised him and the guy didn’t recognise Dad, but we really wanted our food before Dad did his whole Sheriff thing...” he says, and Derek sits there and listens, takes in the way Stiles casts his arms about when he talks and the way he eats through his story. His mate is goddamn brilliant and Derek finds himself smiling. Stiles’ returning look just adds to the feeling of content pooling in his belly as he forgets about everything else.

>> 

 “You do think I’m attractive, don’t you?” Stiles asks when they get to the car. His hands are in his pockets and Derek gives him an unimpressed look. The boy scowls. “You do, don’t you?”

 “I thought that was obvious.”

 “So you wouldn’t mind if we kissed again?” he asks, trying for casual but missing the mark completely.

 Derek’s back stiffens and he tries not to look too eager. He shakes his head and lets his eyes fall to Stiles’ lips. He can’t believe Stiles is even asking, but the way he lets out a shaky breath of anticipation is enough to lurch Derek forward, gently cupping Stiles’ elbows and pulling him near.

 “Fuck yes,” Stiles mutters before their lips press together. It’s soft and sweet, but then Stiles presses his body full against Derek’s and his lips open a little and then _oh._ It feels wonderful and Derek kisses Stiles like he’s fucking adored and important, and they both forget to breathe.

 Stiles breaks away from him. “Drive us somewhere?”

 Derek nods dumbly, feeling his skin alight when Stiles presses another firm kiss to his lips, lets their hands trail away from each other when they get into the car.

 They don’t drive very far before Stiles urges him to pull over. Derek can smell the arousal leaking off of Stiles, and it’s all for him, for _him_ , and as soon as the engine dies at the edge of a secluded road, Stiles climbs into Derek’s lap even though there’s less space here than anywhere else in the car.

 “This okay?” Stiles asks.

 “Yeah,” Derek breathes and their mouths are attacking each other, hot and heavy and so passion fuelled that it reminds Derek a little of their banter. Stiles’ hands slide under Derek’s shirt, his knees pressing tighter around Derek and he’s shuffling to get even closer.

 Derek manages to get one layer of clothing off the both of them, even though it involves Stiles’ head smacking the roof of the car. Stiles just grins back at him, takes Derek’s hands and places them on Stiles’ own thighs. His eyes are hooded and beautiful and Derek takes a finger and presses Stiles’ chin up, exposing the length of his neck. He can’t get enough of it.

 Slowly, Derek works his way from the base of Stiles’ throat, trailing his fingers alongside his lips until he reaches just under his mate’s jaw line, feeling him shiver and murmur underneath him. It’s perfect, and Stiles’ eyes are closed when he sighs. Derek finally reaches his mate’s lips again, gently pressing down with his own.

 “Let’s go back?” Derek asks quietly, nuzzling into Stiles’ neck and just inhaling.

 “Yeah,” Stiles says a little breathless, fingers coming up threading through Derek’s hair. “Yeah, sure.”

 “Good, because we may be in the past but your father is still around and he still has a gun.”

 Stiles snorts but begins to climb off of Derek, kissing him quickly on the cheek before retrieving his shirt. They are still kind of in a public setting, and in broad daylight. “Let’s get you home, big guy.”

>> 

 On the way home, Stiles’ breath seems shaky, small drops of anger leaking from his skin. Derek casts his eyes over one too many times, and when they pull up into the driveway Stiles abruptly turns to face him.

“Fuck, Derek, I can’t just get you and have you taken away from me so soon. I can’t,” he says and Derek stares. “I have an idea.”

 “Stiles –” he tries to say.

 “I have an idea,” he repeats, voice forceful and eyes determined. “So you spend time with your family while I try and figure some things out, okay?”

 “There’s no use,” Derek replies hopelessly, sadness falling around them. Stiles glares.

 “I am not giving up,” he grits out. “I am not giving up on you, or us, or – or your family if I can.”

 Derek closes his eyes. He can’t do this. No one can, his family is dead. They’re dead, and he’s dead and his mate’s dead. He feels Stiles’ fingers brush up against his wrist, slowly removing his keys from his hand. Everything’s so hopeless, but he steps out of the car anyway and lets Stiles drive away with his determination and stubbornness.

>> 

 He arrives back inside feeling weary, his younger self asleep again upstairs.

 “Where’s Stiles?” his father asks, and Derek shrugs, wanting to curl in on himself. He feels exhausted.

 Warm hands pull him to the couch and he finds himself wedged between his two sisters. They can probably smell the sadness and panic coming off him, and he knows he has to be strong, that he’s here to look after them, to earn their forgiveness.

 He tries to help with lunch, but his mother gives him a small smile and stops him. Derek finds himself being taken care of, his little human cousin sitting in front of him on the couch and letting him braid her soft hair.

 The room is desperately tense, like they know something is going to happen tomorrow but they don’t know what. The family tries to let it go, seems to live on the edge of a dream just for right now, as they try and buy a last day of peace even though they don’t know why they’re buying it or who the peace is for.

 They probably think it’s concurrent with Stiles’ and Derek’s departure and they wonder again why he’s not here. It’s obvious they don’t see the truth.

 “I hear the car,” his mother says, long before the rest of the werewolf ears do. Derek straightens and when Stiles walks in there’s a grim expression on his face. Eyes search for Derek’s and he’s given a small smile before striding into the kitchen where his parents are.

 “You think he found a way to get you home?” Laura asks and Derek mumbles a non-coherent answer, falling into his sister and breathing her scent. She’s his rock. He tries to listen out for Stiles’ words, but the kitchen door is closed and the soundproofing throughout the house is rather effective.

 “It would be rather impressive if he found you a way home,” Peter says in a considering voice. “Time travel is difficult to make happen, even if the two of you managed to do it accidentally.”

 Derek stops himself replying and stands to go knock on the door. Before he does it’s already open; Talia stands before him and reaches out to squeeze his hands gently, and kisses him on the cheek. His father puts a palm on his shoulder and by the time he gets to Stiles, the boy has launched himself into a hug.

 “Sorry,” says Stiles when he pulls away. “It’s just that you seem to like hugs a whole lot more here.”

 “I don’t mind hugging you,” Derek admits, and Stiles pulls his lips into a smile.

 “It’s tomorrow, right?” asks Stiles.

 “Yeah.”

 “I’m going to go say words to Derek,” Stiles tells him. It’s a lot to pull back the look of annoyance on his face at the mention of his younger self.

 “You go do that.”

 Stiles frowns. “You know, I’m not really looking forward to the part where you definitely miss me and then you somehow hate me.”

 Derek looks at the floor. “I, I never hated you. You were annoying – are still annoying – but it was hard to look at you and not remember...tomorrow.”

 His mate sighs and fumbles around until he’s found Derek’s hand, holding it gently. Derek tries to savour the touch before Stiles lets go and bounds up the stairs.

>> 

 He remembers the way he stopped his younger self in the corridor, telling him he will be okay. Derek does it now, seeing easily the surprise and confusion at the gesture. Downstairs things move slowly and quickly all at once, but it’s Stiles who draws him in for the hug and at least he gets to hold the whole of his family one more time.

 The sound of the car drives off and suddenly the Alpha is to her feet. She looks at Derek.

 “How much time do we have?” Talia says quickly, and now Peter is standing. The rest of the family look at Derek like he knows something.

 “It’s hardly _we_ ,” Peter says in a dry voice. “The only people leaving this house are the two misfits.”

 “Maybe an hour?” Derek says, eyes searching for Stiles’ body but he can’t seem to find him. God, he needs his mate; how the hell is he supposed to do this? How is supposed to let the past happen without him at least trying to change it?

 They’re not just going to sit here, are they? He’d always imagined some kind of struggle against the hunters. He turns his ears to the wind, wondering if they are _here_ yet, if he can listen to their feet against the ground as they make their destruction.

 “Alright,” Talia says plainly, and she’s unnervingly calm. “Everyone to the basement.”

 “I’m not going,” Peter tells her. “I’m not one for goodbyes.”

 “Fine,” Derek snaps. This way he’ll survive, and this way he won’t get in the damn way of whatever is going on in the basement.

  Talia gives her son a considering look. “Everyone else downstairs.”

 Her eyes flash red and he sees the little ones obeying directly, sees Cora coming down the stairs to find the fuss and before she follows them all down. They’re all crowded into the small space and finally Derek sees Stiles, standing there and looking determined.

 There are lines painted on the floor, similar to the ones that brought them here.

 “What’s happening?” Derek demands, striding around the art Stiles has made on the floor and coming to a stop in front of them.

 Stiles gives him a hard look. “I refuse to have you die just because you think you’re going to even if it does explain why you’ve been so decidedly careless in the past.”

 Derek gives a deep growl, utterly confused. How on earth is Stiles going to pull this off? They have nothing, nothing whatsoever, no token from the future, no Alpha spark to send them hurtling through the chasm. At least, it had seemed that way. Understanding dawns on his features and he whirls around to his mother.

 “You’re in on this?”

 “Yes, Derek,” she says dryly, only stopping to make sure everyone’s here. It’s awfully quiet. Cora is standing close to the doorway, taking in the scene with wide eyes. Andrew stands behind her, Tyler by his side and Henry in his arms, hiding his face in his father’s neck.

“You’re not even going to fight?” he asks weakly. “I know there’s mountain ash outside, but we’re not going to fight?”

 Stiles turns to him. “This is us fighting.”

 “How the hell are you going to pull this off?” Derek hisses.

 His mate takes a shaky breath, looks around and sees Derek’s family, his whole family watching them all nervously. Derek has no idea how much they know, no idea at all even if everyone – werewolf or not – can pick up on the grief terrorising the room.

“You have nothing from the future.”

 “You have me,” Stiles says, eyes strong and features set in stone like there’s nothing Derek can do to shake him from it.

 Derek swallows. “No.”

 “God,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “You’re more at home here than you are in the future, it has to be me. My home is there, with my dad and my friends.”

 “You won’t survive it,” he snarls. “Even if it does work. I won’t let you.” Derek turns to his mother. “You’re going to let him do this; you’re going to let him kill himself for your pack?”

 Talia gives him a sad look. “He’ll die anyway, Derek.”

 “You’re willing to give up your spark?” he throws at her, trying not to get angry.

 She flashes her red eyes in return. “There are more important things,” Talia snaps at him. “I will do my best not to let this family perish to the ground.”

 Derek’s breathing heavily, well aware of the salty tears he can smell coming from the children. There’s a wild sense of uncertainty throughout the room and he’s completely on edge, vibrating horribly in his own skin.

 He finds Stiles again, who places his hands on Derek’s shoulders. “I’m sorry if it doesn’t work,” he says with a hapless shrug. “Like, really sorry.” His amber eyes shine, try to soothe, and Derek has to stop himself from shaking into Stiles’ hold.

 “Please, Stiles,” Derek trails off. _You mean the world to me._

 Everyone’s heads shoot up at the same time, everyone hears a dull thud, smells the beginnings of smoke dashing through the house to char up the wood. It’s suddenly all very real. Talia gets them all to crowd together, to hold hand in hand in hand. His knees tremble as Stiles starts to say the words of the spell, and they hear pillars falling and they feel the heat of their home collapsing around them. Peter calls for them outside the basement, tries to get in but it’s too late for that.

 His family’s sobs and cries are worse than he could ever imagine, worse than the nightmares he knows he’s going to get. Derek sees Stiles say the spell in a strong but nervous and scared voice. Their eyes meet and Derek tries not to look too hopeless, just holds onto those closest to him as the flames burn closer, accelerated by something chemical.

 Eyes burn red and his mother is shaking like she’s losing something, shaking terribly and Derek knows exactly how she feels. Then Stiles marks himself, takes a breath even though at this point they’re inhaling smoke, and Derek just sits there, just sits there while Stiles throws himself into the spell and everything turns over and over before it all dances to black.

>> 

Derek’s head clears but around them there are still crying children, the scent of smoke on all their clothes but the alarmingly fresh feeling of present clear. In an instant he knows it’s worked, knows through the disorientation that they’re not burnt to a crisp.

 He rolls over on charred, old, floors, peaks of light gathering in from where there are holes in the dashed planes of wood. Derek’s too out of it to stand, body shaking, but he has to find Stiles. All instincts focus on his mate, his mate who he can’t smell through the left over smoke. He drags himself on his elbows, ears holding out for that heartbeat but everything is wild and he still hears the heavy thud of drums.

 “Stiles,” he manages, when he sees the block of his body. Derek ignores everything else and moves closer, turns the lifeless shoulder of his mate. His face is red and blistered, more like the burns of a fire even though they’re from the spell. “Stiles,” he whimpers, holding his wrist delicately and there is the dash of a pulse, quiet, so quiet, along with the beginnings of raggedy breathing.

 “It hurts,” he hears the boy mumble, looking so small and fragile.

 “Stiles, please, please hold on, we’ll get help, I’m right here, okay? I’m right here,” Derek says in a rush. He tips head back and he howls. He calls to his pack.

 But Scott is already there, already coming up from the woods and lifting the remains of his house to free everyone out. His eyes flash gold as he takes in the increased amount of werewolves, how they’re suddenly stepping in part of his territory, but then his eyes fall to his friend on the floor.

 “Call an ambulance,” Derek growls, and Scott does not need to be told twice.

 He feels his mother’s hand on his shoulder, telling him it’s okay, telling him his mate will be fine. But Stiles’ eyelids flutter like it’s far too difficult to keep them open, and Derek tries not to cry, tries not to let his mate die in his arms.

 The ambulance arrives. The human children and his aunt are being loaded into the ambulances with Stiles, not having werewolf healing to stop the inhalation of smoke collapsing their lungs. They don’t let Derek go with his mate, there’s not enough room, and there’s not enough negatives in the world to tell him how wrong that feels.

 “Derek,” his father takes his head into his hands. “He’ll be okay, he’ll be okay.”

 Blue bleeds through his eyes as he latches on to his father and he hears his heartbeat remain steady. It’s not a lie. Perhaps his mate will be fine, will live. His father’s calm stance lures him in and in a beat he realises that the man is alive, that he’s steady.

 “You’re alive,” he croaks, launching his nose into his father’s neck, trying not to falter.  He feels strong hands wrap around him and pull him out to the grass, and now that the ambulances are gone he feels the shift of his siblings around them, feels small hands on his back and now Derek’s pulling them in too.

 “Look at the house,” Cora says, staring up at it. Derek pulls away from the embrace and looks at the way his family stare up at it in thick realisation. Talia comes up next to her, eyes golden and bereft of any Alpha power. Derek sees the discomfort lurking in her shoulders, almost manic, had felt it himself too but it probably wasn’t as strong. It had felt more natural his mother being his Alpha than him being his own.

 Derek gets to his feet, still unsure if this is all a dream. Tyler comes to hold his hand, seemingly aware that he needs comfort from this shock.

 It’s then, that Peter comes striding through the woods. He takes in the sight of his family and Derek clenches his jaw and holds him coldly. He can tell them of his deed. He can tell them how he ripped Laura from this world.

 And Laura’s death hits him all over again.

 “Peter,” Talia says carefully. They can all feel the shock rolling off of him.

 “You’re not dead,” he manages, striking in closer. His hands move out and emotion flickers through him, makes his eyes go red. Talia flinches back, feeling the Alpha power that was once hers.

 “Your eyes are red.”

 “You’re alive,” Peter says more forcefully, dropping to his knees in front of the boys, in front of his nephews. Derek suppresses a growl, suppresses the urge to hold them tight and away from their uncle. He knows, he knows Peter was driven mad, driven mad for now what seems like no reason but Derek can’t help the protectiveness now that he actually has his family near. _He killed Laura._

“Where’s Laura?” Cora asks suddenly. “I can’t...I can’t feel her.”

 Scott’s still here and he takes a deliberate step from Peter. It’s not unnoticed.

 “Where’s my daughter?” snaps Talia.

 “She’s dead,” Derek supplies quietly, and Peter, at least, looks pained.

 Talia stares at him to explain even though Derek knows she’s guessed the truth. His father’s forehead is pinched together like he’s trying to remain calm, but Derek can see the quiver of his fingers by his thighs.

 It’s Tyler who storms forward, teeth bared and challenging his uncle, an Alpha, but not the person he calls his Alpha. “Stiles didn’t like you!” he yells, kicking the dirt. “Old Derek didn’t like you and _everyone_ knows that if Mom dies Laura is supposed to be the Alpha, so why is she dead and you have red eyes?!”

 Peter’s lip curls at being yelled at, but at the same time he wants the little boy’s forgiveness. It’s his family, his family. Before Peter can yell or grovel, Derek swipes his brother away, feels him clashing in his arms as he tries to get at Peter.

 The rest of them know he did it.

 “I wanted to avenge your deaths,” Peter snarls and they can all see how he’s changed. “Don’t blame me for that. I needed to be an Alpha to avenge your deaths, and _I did._ ”

 Derek sees the waiver of control leave his mother’s eyes.

 “Let me avenge my daughter’s,” Talia says simply, and Derek pulls Tyler’s face towards him, his father holding Henry near. His other uncle looks on in surprise, but doesn’t do anything to stop the fight, to stop the battle between two people – one of them who he used to call pack.

 Derek does nothing to stop his mother getting her Alpha power back.

 He passes Tyler to his father, who willingly takes him. Then he catches Scott’s eye before springing up into a mad run to the hospital, his former beta not far behind him. When Peter is cut off from the pack in death, he feels it, and yet, feels nothing for the man that took his sister away from the world.

>> 

 Derek walks back and forth in the hall of the hospital, the Sheriff called, and Scott slumped over one of the chairs with his mother near. He knows his family is safe and he feels the happiness in that, but he can’t have Stiles torn away from him when everything is so, so close to working out.

 It’s almost the miracle he didn’t think he could ever deserve.

 “Yeah, you’ve only been gone a couple of hours,” Scott tells him, and thank god for that. He doesn’t want to be accused of kidnapping the Sheriff’s son. “We dealt with the witch, I guess. Peter kind of disappeared for a bit and Isaac and I didn’t want to follow him, so. Then you turned up – with, with your family – and Peter’s dead.”

 “Yeah,” Derek replies.

 “That’s good though, having your family back?”

 He allows himself to smile, even though through the walls of the hospital he’s trying to hear Stiles’ heart beat. Scott is trying too.

 “Do you think,” Scott begins to ask awkwardly, “that your Mom will have me in her pack?”

 Derek stares at the floor. “You’ll have to talk to her.”

 The Sheriff arrives at the hospital, takes in Derek’s face and tries to hide his expression of discontent, _because of course it’s Derek Hale._ “What’s happened to my son?” he demands.

 Scott jumps to his feet but before he can say anything, Derek’s father has made his way to the white blandness of the hospital corridor. He doesn’t register the Sheriff straight away, eyes tired and concerned when he approaches Derek.

 “I found the others,” Andrew tells Derek. “They’ll be fine, just a little smoke inhalation.”

 The Sheriff is staring at him.

 Derek nods back awkwardly, avoiding the confused stare of the older man.

 “Is Stiles...?” Andrew trails off and Derek shrugs, because fuck, they don’t know. He tries to give his son an encouraging smile but it flickers when his eyes zone in on Stiles’ father. “John,” he says weakly.

 “You, uh,” the Sheriff scratches his head. “You look really familiar to someone I used to know.”

 Andrew throws Derek a veiled look but he knows what it contains. It involves Stiles knowing about the supernatural but not his father, and Derek shifts on his feet. He understands that his father had come to the hospital to check on the rest of the members of the pack, but it’s just great that someone had to recognise him, let alone that person being Sheriff Stilinski.

 “Yes,” Andrew replies, taking a deep breath. “Well. Before things get out of hand, I just want to let you know that Stiles is a very brave man and that you should be proud to have him as your son.”

 The Sheriff’s eyes scrunch up, his pulse quickening. “Is this why he’s in the hospital?”

 Andrew nods, moving over to Derek and running a palm over his back. The physical contact helps. “He saved my family.”

 “I don’t understand,” the Sheriff says, and Derek, really, really doesn’t blame him. He never knew that the two knew each other well enough to recognise each other after years had passed. “Will my son be okay?”

 At that moment, a doctor strides in and takes in the waiting figures. “He’ll be fine,” he says back, a small smile on his face. Derek sinks into the nearest chair in relief, and the Sheriff demands to see Stiles.

 Andrew leans forward and asks Derek to give the man some space, and Derek complies, happy with the knowledge his mate will be okay, and happy to find his siblings and scoop them in his arms.

>> 

 Talia introduces herself to Stiles’ father as they wait for Stiles to wake up even though Derek tells her Stiles won’t like it. “Are those teeth!” he hears the man yell from inside Stiles’ hospital room.

 “Yes,” she says, behind the closed door. “I’m sorry to intrude, but eventually we’re going to need your help in sorting out papers now that several once thought dead people are now alive, without ageing at all.”

 “Jesus Christ, Mrs. Hale, this – this is a lot,” the Sheriff says.

 Opposite Derek, Cora rolls her eyes at him for eavesdropping. Derek glares at her, ecstatic that he can actually still glare at one of his sisters.

 “I know,” Talia sighs, “and I’m telling you because we need your help, but I also think it’s wrong for Stiles to be so heavily involved in the supernatural without telling you of it. But we do have to thank your son for a lot.”

 “I am proud of him,” Stiles’ father admits, though he’s still muttering about time travel to himself.

 The man also finds out about Scott and demands he tell Mrs McCall everything, who to his surprise already knows.  He claims that the evidence of the supernatural seems to explain everything that goes on around here, but hours later when he emerges from Stiles’ room he still gives Derek a suspicious look.

 “Stiles is asking for you,” the Sheriff tells him. Derek tries not to look too pleased, given that he’s simultaneously worried that the man will want to keep Derek away from his son forever.

 “Hey,” Stiles croaks, sitting up. He looks terrible, but the burns are going to clear away with minimal scarring. Derek breathes a sigh of relief and moves around the edge of the bed.

 “Stiles, I,” Derek tries but Stiles shushes him. Derek glares. “I owe you everything. You saved my family.”

 “I’m glad,” says Stiles back. “I was really freaking out about the fact that I might be the whole reason why your family died in the first place, like, I was only twenty percent sure it would work, you know. I mean, I want you to trust me, and how can you trust me when I kill your family. So. Yeah. I’m really glad I didn’t.”

 “It worked,” Derek says firmly. “I – thank you. Thank you.”

 Stiles gives a small smile, but the stretch seems to make it hurt. The worst of the burns are on his torso though, over his arms and along the edge of his hands. His mate frowns at them, wishes they weren’t quite so hindering.

 “I’ll visit you every day,” Derek promises, leaning forward to kiss Stiles on a clear patch of skin on his forehead. His mate flails a little, and Derek can tell he’s trying not to look too pleased about the action.

>> 

 “I wish I got to see you grow up,” Talia says softly to him one evening. Derek doesn’t know what to say. “I hope you’re not upset I killed your uncle.”

 Derek looks up at his mother from within the Stilinski household. He’s already been reprimanded for not owning some sort of house and they’ve probably already overwhelmed the Sheriff by staying here. “I don’t mind,” he says. “I’ve killed him before.”

 Talia’s eyes widen in surprise and Derek grits his teeth as he explains.

 “You had a pack?”

 Derek falters. “I, yes, I do. I do. I need help, Mom.”

His mother promises to find Erica and Boyd and is introduced to Isaac. The threat of an Alpha pack might not be so heavy with his family now here, and Derek for once begins to hope, to hope for something good.

>> 

 Scott eyes him wearily when he sees Derek holding Stiles’ hand gently, taking his pain from him. Derek knows he’s aware of the changed nature of Stiles’ and Derek’s relationship even though they haven’t spoken about it, and Scott leaves when the fond looks Stiles gives Derek from the hospital bed get too much.

 “You better get used to it!” Stiles calls out to his friend, settling back into the sheets.

 Derek knows it must be deadly frustrating for him to be there and he hates that his mate is still injured. When the string of visitors subside Derek can see the moment where the exhaustion flickers back onto his face, breathing heavy and lips thin. Stiles reaches for Derek then, pink skin scrambling through the air until Derek comes closer to his mate.

 “I wish you werewolves ran on ice instead of heat right about now,” Stiles mumbles before falling to sleep. Derek stays by his side.

>> 

 It’s hard reversing his own mentality, but Derek is slowly allowing himself to be happier with almost everyone he could ever hope for back in his life again. He’s less alone than he was before and he has promises of his mother helping him find the remaining members of his pack. Perhaps she can do a better job than he ever did.

 The Sheriff helps them get new identities, and it’s not easy but they manage. They choose a new surname based off Laura’s favourite novel. Talia still has contacts from out of state and Deaton is a help. The Argents turn up and eye the family warily, but Derek can see guilt slide of Chris Argent’s shoulders as he offers his help, apologising for what his sister tried to do.

 His parents find out Derek’s full involvement with Kate. They don’t scold him, knowing he’s suffered enough.

 Derek can tell the smell of the future is something they will have to get used to; that electric feel spicing the air. Cora seems to feel the worst of it, shrinking back into Derek sometimes when it gets too much. She doesn’t complain, though, knows it’s better to be alive than dead.

 She’s the one who gives him a knowing look when every day Derek leaves the house to go visit Stiles. The bandages are close to all coming off, and Stiles smells less and less like medication and unfamiliar ointment.

 “That was your secret, wasn’t it?” she says mischievously. “Apart from you know, thinking we’re all going to die, your secret was about Stiles. You love him.”

 Derek frowns at her and Cora brightens.

 “You’re not denying it!” she cackles. “He’s your mate and you love him!”

 “Shut up, Cora,” he mumbles, falling out of the door as his face goes red.

 He gets to the hospital just as the Sheriff is leaving and this time he doesn’t look too hostile. In fact, he seems pretty accepting about the fact a whole family has taken hold of his living room. Derek can almost see the projected look of hope that the Sheriff gives him; the boy who lost everything gets it all back, wondering if now he’ll heal.

 He pushes those thoughts from his head when Derek sits by Stiles’ bed. Without too much drama, he changes the channel on the tv when he’s asked, or gets Stiles a glass of water. Stiles seems to delight in getting him to do the things he can’t, pout turning into a mischievous smile when Derek complies.

 “This means we get another date, right?” Stiles says happily, a little buzzed out from the flow of visitors.

 “Yeah,” Derek replies, “if you want.”

 He’s scowled at. “Of course I want to, you big idiot. I know it’s going to be hard for you to stop with your whole tortured soul outlook on life, but you’re still allowed to want things. And now, you don’t have to blame yourself. Because nothing happened.”

 “Because of you.”

 Stiles rolls his eyes. “Stop it, you sap. I just want a date. And,” he says triumphantly, “I don’t have to die a virgin anymore.”

 “I’m not having sex with you until you’re eighteen and only when your father knows about our relationship,” Derek states, feeling awfully warm when Stiles glares at him. “Just to be clear.”

 “Fine,” he grumbles, muttering out loud about why Derek has to be an old fashioned gentleman when he owns a hundred leather jackets. “Kissing is okay, though, right?”

 Derek takes Stiles’ hand gently, and presses the fingertips to his lips.

 He sighs. “Not what I meant, but that, that’s nice.”

 Derek smiles behind Stiles’ hand.  


>> 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I like this fic because it means that all the events that happen after season two don't necessarily have to play out. They will have the Hale pack to help them. No one has to die. 
> 
> I am [matildajones](http://matildajones.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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